A Dance with Blades
by yelenam
Summary: Their first meeting on the battlefields begins a dance with blades, which becomes a battle of wills when Garen and Katarina no longer can settle their differences with violence. Rated M for upcoming violence and suggestive themes. I appreciate reviews :) And remember, chapter 1 is just the beginning ;)
1. Chapter 1

"Don't go out today, brother." He sighed as he strapped on the final piece of armor, flicked the blue cape around his shoulders, and turned around. His sister, Luxanna, stood there, strapping on her own armor.

"And why not?"

She looked almost fearful, a look he rarely saw on Lux's face. "Our reports say that their assassin is with them. I don't want to see you hurt, Garen."

He glared at her. "Don't you think I can handle a single assassin?" Noxus had certainly tried to assassinate him before; he had sent their heads back to Noxus. He felt indignant: she had seen him fight many times before; had she really that little faith in him?

"But it's her, Garen. The Sinister Blade."

"She doesn't scare me." He dutifully helped his sister with the fastening of her breastplate.

Lux still looked fearful when she left his tent, off to the command tents, where she would help coordinate the coming battle. Their reports had said that the noxian division would be upon them in barely two hours, and while the noxians were outnumbered, they had always been fierce fighters; Garen was sure it would be a close match.

On his way to follow his sister to the command tents, he met up with Jarvan, the crown prince of Demacia. He clapped Garen on the back, giving a wide grin.

"You ready to have some fun, Garen?" He grinned, looking ready to step into battle in his shining golden armor, his spear in his hand. "Ready to kill some noxian scum?"

Garen took no joy in killing, even if it was noxians. KIlling was something he did out of duty to his family, his city, and his king; the noxians did not abide by the high ethics held by the Demacian standard, and if they so wished to fight, the Demacian commander of the Dauntless Vanguard would make sure they would not to threaten Demacia again. His life was the endless fight to keep Demacia safe from all its enemies; especially Noxus.

He looked from his crown prince, his childhood friend, and towards the field for the coming battle, though it was obscured by a stout wall of cut down, pointed trees. The wall had, so far, protected them against any noxian spies learning of their plans.

"This battle is only the first of many, isn't it?" He asked his old friend, looking thoughtfully towards the wall of wood as they walked towards the command tents.

"Probably," Jarvan said cheerfully. "I'll have your back, Garen."

"The same," he muttered, still staring at the horizon he could not see. Their chosen battlefield was midway between the two city states, a few days march to each city from the middle.

"We'll likely need reinforcements soon," he said, looking back at the camp at the soldiers at his command. They were a few hundred, two divisions of the several thousand strong Demacian army. The noxians had, for now, only brought one division.

Jarvan laughed. "Don't worry about that so much, Garen. They're _noxians_. How much trouble can they be?"

But Garen did not laugh. He rarely did, especially in wartimes.

The demacian camp was currently in a state of uproar, something Garen did not approve of. He preferred everything to be orderly done and quietly organized, but when the battle was only hours in the making, he supposed it did not mattered how the soldiers got ready; only that they did.

They entered the vast command tent to fits of giggles by the serving girls, mostly on Jarvan's account. He flashed them all wide grins as he walked over to the table in the middle to look at the maps. The only girls who had not squealed were Luxanna and Jean, who was on the other hand, staring at Garen. Jean was Jarvan's baby sister, and they had been promised to each other in marriage for as long as Garen could remember. They had been set to marry several times already, but the continuous conflict between Demacia and Noxus, and thus his continuing deployment in service to the army, had postponed it time and time again.

Jean was pretty enough, he thought, with golden hair and brown eyes, a few years younger than him though, around eighteen now. Their marriage would be one of convenience, binding the Crownguards ever more tightly to the Lightshields.

Jarvan gave his little sister a hug, and winged at Lux. She in return responded with a grimace. Jarvan was a well renowned ladies man, and proud of it.

The moment the giggles had settled down, battle horns sounded.

Lux looked up in panic, speaking the words Garen had somehow known would come.

"Those aren't ours. The noxians are marching!" She looked from Jarvan to Garen. "Boys, lead the cavalry charge. Send word to the king, Miranda." One after one, she commanded everyone as to what would be their task. If one did not know Lux, one might have speculated as to why her commands were followed so blindly, especially with a prince and the commander of the vanguard in the room, but to everyone who knew how blindingly intelligent his sister was, and how trusted she was by not only the prince, but the king as well, would not hesitate to follow her commands. No one hesitated once she had told them what to do.

He caught a last glimpse of her pleading look as he stormed out of the tent.

Despite the late warning, the demacians were ready at the chosen battlefield when the noxians arrived. WIthout any pause to stop, the noxian cavalry of black warhorses charged straight into them, causing disruption and panic wherever they went. Garen and Jarvan charged after them, cutting down as many of the enemy as they could reach, and charging after those they could not.

"DEMACIA!" Garen called, to loud cheers of the men, as he and Jarvan charged forwards, crashing into the noxian army. His horse soon fell beneath him, but Garen had always preferred to fight on foot, and started cutting through the enemies around him. It did not matter, however, how many he cut down, two more seemed ready to try to kill him. It was a bloodbath. Both sides had already sustained heavy casualties when a messenger appeared suddenly at their side, telling a rambling story about an execution taking place to their right. Garen and Jarvan turned in shock to see what he was talking about, but saw nothing; with the exception of two dozen fallen soldiers straight to their right. A wide gap had formed between their fallen soldiers and the noxians. Jarvan moved forward to inspect the carnage, ignoring the jeers from the noxian soldiers.

For the first time in this battle, Garen felt a surge of fear; he could not protect Jarvan when he was out in the open like this, ignoring everything and everyone around them to see what had happened to his men. He quickly motioned for six of his best men to shield the prince from the enemy, as the battle raged on around them.

From out of nowhere, a knife came hurling straight towards Jarvan's shielded chest. Reacting instinctively, Garen threw his sword up to block it, shattering the knife in its path before it could hit its mark. It took a few moments to sink in how close someone had gotten to killing his crown prince, but when it finally hit him, he roared with rage, and motioned for more guards to surround Jarvan as he stepped into the gap between the armies.

He yelled in rage. "Who did that?" To his great surprise, a young woman walked into the clearing, a swagger on her hips. She was smirking. Wearing little but skin-tight leather pants, a fitted breastplate that covered little but her breasts, a cropped jacket and spiked boots and gloves, she twirled a dagger in her left hand as she approached. Halfway between the fighting armies, she stopped. When she stopped walking, he noticed the vertical scar that marred her left eye and cheek.

"How dare you attempt to assassinate the crown prince?" he bellowed, still enraged that he had almost failed in his utmost duty.

"I'm sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all, as she walked even closer, a smirk on her face. "I must have been misinformed, but isn't the whole point of war to kill the enemy?"

"Who are you?" he asked, but quite sure he already knew. In all of Valoran, there were perhaps 3 people able to hit a mark from that distance with a knife, and only one of them was female.

"I am Katarina Du Couteau, of Noxus."

From behind the wall of protective guards, Jarvan hissed. Garen understood why; it was to this woman that they had lost nearly fifty good ranking officers during the course of their on and off war.

"Kill her," the prince ordered. Three of the soldiers standing around Jarvan charged at Katarina. Two were dead on the ground before taking ten steps; the last man came nearly halfway to her before falling backwards, a knife planted between his eyes.

"No one approach," he commanded. Jarvan was a good fighter, and a good prince, but in the field of battle, the orders of the commander's words counted for more. "Protect the prince," he ordered the soldiers, as he charged forward to meet Katarina in battle.

Cheers of 'Garen, the Might of Demacia' sounded from the the demacian troops, led by Jarvan himself, just before the fighting around them continued; it had paused momentarily when he yelled at the woman in front of him.

Katarina mocked a bow, a smirk on her scarred face. Her vivid green eyes gleamed with anticipation. "It shall be my honor to kill you, Garen Crownguard, Might of Demacia."

He did not reply. Instead he charged, bringing his massive sword around to slice her in two. By the time his sword would have hit, however, she was no longer there. His blade sliced through thin air, and continued to spin around, propelled by the force Garen had put into the swing. To his surprise, Katarina had somehow managed to get behind him, and had only just managed to step back from the blade's return spin. Had she not moved, she would have been sliced in two. The incredulous look in her eyes told him just how surprised, and very furious, she was.

When his blade came to a rest, she pounced. With a curved dagger in each hand, she jumped on him and kicked him in the shoulders. The kick came with such unanticipated force that it knocked him clean to the ground, no doubt helped by his heavy armor. Her red hair gleamed in the sun, framing her ivory skin in fire. The unceremonious meeting with the ground had knocked the breath out of him, and as she sat atop him, he fought to retrieve it. While she restrained his arms with her knees, she looked him straight in the eyes, placing her two daggers across his throat.

"Goodbye, Might of Demacia," she said, giving the blades a push into his throat, but not hard enough to break the skin. For a moment, he wondered why she did not act. As the battle raged around them once again, she sat there, staring at him, but not killing him. He thought, for just a moment, that he saw a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, but then it was gone. The hesitation however had been just what he needed; he used his knees to unbalance her, toppling her off him. By the time he was back on his feet, she was already charging once more, fierce determination showing in her entire face. However, now that he was more prepared for her style of fighting, dodging and feinting, he found they were rather equally matched. For every small knife she threw, he dodged and swing his sword, which she in turn dodged.

It was exhilarating to fight with the Sinister Blade. She could not throw her daggers without him intercepting them, any more than he could swing his sword without her dodging it. She was faster, but he was stronger. They fought for hours, until the sun had started to set in the horizon, by which time it became clear to them both that they grew tired. Katarina had started to make mistakes, as had he. Had their opponents been any less skilled and calculating, the mistakes would not have mattered, but as the stakes stood, each mistake gave the other an opportunity to close in for the kill.

Capitalizing on their mistakes however, turned out to be harder than Garen had thought. He had never fought for this long at a time before, but he was used to enduring long periods of exercise. As he tried to make good use of her mistakes, she seemed to find new strength to block him, and stage a counter attack, which he would then be hard pressed to dodge. After a short time of this, however, it was obvious that she was tiering. Soon after he noticed this, her dance with daggers came to a halt, as he held up his hand to her.

"Are you giving up, Might of Demacia?" she said, trying to tease him. The impression was slightly ruined by the fact that she looked exhausted.

"Not at all," he replied, taking short and shallow breaths. It was well known that demacians did not give up in righteous battle; they either returned victorious or not at all. "I was just about to offer you a chance to surrender, Du Couteau."

She looked at him curiously as she sheathed her blades. to his surprise, she walked closer to him, stopping inches before him. She placed a gloved hand on his cheek, and stared into his eyes. It was only as she leaned in even closer that he relayed just how beautiful she was.

"Me, surrender?" He could feel her breath on his lips; the heat was making him light headed. "Never. Just because I have grown tired of today, does not mean I will not return tomorrow, every day if I must, until I win."

When she ended her words, a sharp pain shot through his body, originating in his upper thigh. He looked from Katarina's seductive triumphant eyes, down on his own body, seeing the hilt of a dagger sticking out from a chink in his armor. As he staggered back, he swing hiss word towards her exposed midriff, giving her a wide but shallow cut. The triumphant look melted away, and her face contorted into a visage of shock and fury as she retreated from him.

He expected her to turn back and finish him off, like assassins did, but she called her men to a halt, ordering their retreat back to camp. With a last look at him, she said, "Don't forget about me, Might of Demacia!"

When she was fully obscured by her retreating men, he turned to face Jarvan. He stood alone now, his guards all gone to tend to the wounded and retrieve the dead. Jarvan looked livid.

"Why didn't you finish her off?" He asked angrily, as Garen pulled the small throwing dagger out of his upper thigh. It didn't feel like it had severed anything important.

"I'm glad I didn't die too, thanks," he grumbled, furious with himself. He was sure he _could_ have finished off the Sinister Blade, if she had not retreated when she did. Perhaps she knew it too, and that was why she had done it. She was an assassin, not made for or trained to endure hours and hours of combat.

He studied the dagger that had embedded itself in his thigh. It was small, made for throwing from a distance, rather than fighting. It had no real handle, but on the hilt was emblazoned a pair of crossed daggers; the Du Couteau family crest.

Jarvan's face softened immediately when he saw the dagger, and put his hand on Garen's shoulder.

To his own surprise, Garen grinned. "That was the best fight I've ever had," he said, looking down at his friend's incredulous face.

"But she nearly killed you several times," Jarvan protested, looking down at the dagger. "She was inches away, she could have thrust that dagger anywhere else in your body at that distance, and you would not have been able to stop her."

That thought was troubling, he admitted to himself as he thought over Jarvan's words. She could have killed him. But then why had she not done so? He and Jarvan walked back towards their camp in silence, with Jarvan throwing suspicious looks his way whenever he had to take a deep breath.

It was still an excellent fight, Garen thought, the adrenaline still pumping through his body. He would absolutely _love_ to fight her again.


	2. Chapter 2

"You did _what_?" The master tactician asked in a thundering voice, glaring down at her. She was lying down, a healer attending her wound. She scowled back up at him.

"My orders were to attempt assassinating the demacian crown prince. I did so. They said nothing about killing the commander of his Vanguard."

Master Swain looked like he was about to thrown a fit. "You silly girl! Have you no mind of your own? You killed dozens of soldiers with your dagger, why not their commander?"

"Because I didn't feel like it," she spat, the reminder of her first assassination fresh in her mind at his words. A cutting pain in her stomach made her realize she had hoisted herself up to her elbows, and ripped open her partially sewn wound. Curse the commander, she thought. It had been a while since she had allowed a blade to touch her, let alone cut her.

The healer was too afraid of her to ask her to lie back down, but continued fretting over the wound as if it was deadly. Katarina was not worried; it was a shallow cut, and would not even leave a decent scar.

The master tactician roared in frustration and stomped out of the infirmary. Katarina laid back down, cursing he commander, but allowing the relieved healer to reseal the cut.

It was dusk when she left the infirmary to go see her sister. Cassiopeia hissed in displeasure when she retold what had happened, mostly out of indignation that Katarina had been cut, rather than her failure to kill either the demacian commander or their prince.

"You'll go back, won't you?" she asked, a worried look in her eyes.

Katarina dismissed her concern. "Of course. Just because I called a temporarily retread, it does not mean I will not return and fight again. The prince will be dead, as shall be the commander, if he tries to stop me."

"When?" Cassandra frowned, as though she was worried about her sister. Cassandra knew though, as the youngest of the Du Couteau girls, that her sister always returned. Sometimes battered and sometimes bruised, but she always returned.

"I would prefer to go tonight, while the commander is still wounded. Tomorrow he will no doubt be healed; it wasn't a deep cut. However, security will likely be tighter than usual tonight, following the small skirmish earlier."

Cassandra snorted. "It wasn't that small."

"Barely a few dozen casualties, that's a small skirmish." The majority of the fallen soldiers had been demacian, anyway.

As it turned out, it was not until three nights later that she had been able to sneak unseen out of her own camp, encumbered by Swain's new orders for her. The good part of the delay was, that since it had been relatively quiet the last days between the two small forces, the demacians would likely be lulled into a false sense of security, and relaxed their guard.

She was on her own as she ran through the grasslands towards the small forest that separated the two camps. By the light of the moon she could easily see her way, though she almost wished it was pitch dark; it was easier to see in the shadows when there was no light. Careful to look out for sentries as she passed through, she was surprised to see that they had none in the forest. The noxians had not placed sentries here either, but their view of the forest were much better geographically than the demacians had.

When she exited the forest on the other side she breathed out, before quickly stomping on her own relief. Now the work would begin. Had she wished it, she would have been able to walk straight out of the noxian camp without any questions asked; that would not be true for the demacian camp. She had her serious doubts about them letting a known noxian assassin through their tall wooden walls her spies had described surrounded their camp.

Halfway across the grassland she saw the first sentries. True to demacian military standards, they were placed at intervals close enough that they could talk to each other without shouting; close enough to see any enemy trying to advance in the tall grass. But Katarina was not a regular enemy. It was a breezy summer night, perfect for running low through the grass, her head of red hair concealed under a hood. She ran quickly and quietly as a cat through the noisy grass, her dark leather pants, and cropped jacked helping conceal her as she ran. The gleaming silver of her stomach-bearing breastplate and her spiked boots, made for close combat, could easily give her away if the moonlight hit them, but she would not leave them behind; she might need them.

It took her barely an hour to cross the grasslands, remaining unseen by the sentries. She stopped a few yards away from the massive wooden walls of the camp, as she considered how to get in. Not sure what the enclosed camp would look like on the inside, she had not yet formed a plan as to how she would reach the prince, but she did have a plan on how to get through the wall. She was a lithe woman; the demacians would have built their walls for burly men. With a little luck, she spotted a gap in the walls big enough for her to sneak through, and so she slipped inside, unnoticed by any guard.

Once she was inside, she made her way to the flashiest tent in the camp, easily spotted from her position down at the ground. It was pure logic that the prince's tent would be in the middle; easily defendable should something happen. Unfortunately for them, that also made it easy to find.

She made her way through the middle of the camp quietly, unseen in the shadows, and always on the lookout for trouble. She passed a few guards, but they sounded busy with discussing their homes, wives and children. The cold eyes of the killer passed over them as they walked away, and she continued towards her target.

She reached the tent easily. Too easy, for her peace of mind. No matter what she thought of demacians on the whole, they were not _stupid_. That was where the easiness ended. Around the tent were half a dozen guards, all looking awake and on the lookout for trouble. The plan formed in her mind quickly, as she removed one of her throwing daggers from one of her many straps, and aimed it at a guard close to the wall. Seconds later, the man fell.

Chaos was the only word she could use to describe the camp. Half-naked men ran out of their tents, rushing past her without noticing her presence. The five of the six of the Vanguard outside the prince's tent rushed to find what was wrong; she lost sight of them in the mass of men. A man exited the tent, looking annoyed at the disturbance.

With a silent gasp, she realized it was him; the commander, Garen Crownguard. He was wearing the same armor she had seen three days ago when she fought him.

Slinking silently closer, she tried to listen in to their conversation.

"What's happening, Bane?" He asked, sounding cross. "Where are the others?"

"Man down, sir," the soldier said, snapping to attention. "I don't know any more yet, sir." As soon as he was finished speaking, two of the other guards came running back, carrying the dead soldier's body. They laid him gently down on the dusty ground.

Katarina took the opportunity their distraction provided, and crept silently towards the tent they were guarding. When she was sure they were too busy with the body, she slipped underneath the canvas of the tent. She looked around inside; she was alone, with the exception of the man sleeping on the lavish bed in the middle of the tent. He looked so peaceful as he slept, the scraggly beard and brown hair in a mess. It would almost be a shame to kill him. Almost.

From a sheath at her hip she drew one of her curved daggers, admiring it in the light cast by the lantern hanging from the pole in the middle of the tent. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the curved blade to the prince's throat. He woke with a start, looking up at her with wide eyes. She smiled softy at him; there was nothing he could do.

Just when she was about to slit his throat, the tent flap opened. She saw the commander drawing his sword, and her blade slipped. Cursing internally, she backed away from the prince, considering her options. She would have liked to finish the prince off and leave the camp with the demacians none the wiser, but that was no longer an option. Even if she managed to kill the prince, the commander would make alert everyone, and she would not get out. She was, after all, only one woman.

"Step away from the prince!" The commander roared as he charged. She did not feel like fighting him, not here, with so many demacians close. Looking sullenly at the prince scrambling away from her, she picked a throwing dagger from her hips and flung it with a flick of her wrist into the prince's chest, missing his heart only because Garen pushed him away.

"Something to remember me by," she purred as she slashed the canvas at her back, and exited out of the gap. The camp was still in chaos, with hundreds of soldiers trying to figure out what had happened. She slipped into the shadows once more, running largely unnoticed towards the gates, which were now open to send demacian soldiers out on patrol. She was quickly back onto the plains, running at full speed for the forest. The first time she looked behind, she saw a massive figure running after her.

She was almost pleased to find the commander following her; she had not forgotten their last fight. In the middle of the forest, she stopped. She would let him catch her, she had decided. She wanted to fight him again.

Hiding in the shadows as she watched him approach, she took in just how handsome he looked in the moonlight. It would be a shame to kill him. In the middle of the small forest, he stopped, breathless after the run. He looked around, brandishing a torch he had brought with him. She nearly giggled; a torch!

"I know you're here," he said, his voice brimming with calm fury as he looked for her. In the silence that followed she could hear him draw his sword.

"I have something that belongs to you."

"Really?" she asked, her voice light. "How did you come to have something of mine?" She could hear his charge from a mile away. By the time his sword had swing around and embedded itself in the trunk of a tree, she was already gone. Her thrilling laugh echoed around the forest.

"Come into the light"# he bellow, raising another laugh from her as he waved his torch.

"The light blinds you, might of Demacia. From the shadows I see everything."

"I'm tired of your games, Katarina! Where are you hiding? You will pay for harming the prince!"

Harming. He had not said kill. Although she had expected it from the way he had pushed the prince away, she was a bit disappointed that the prince had not died from it.

"The funny thing about hiding," she said, staring at the big demacian with her green eyes, "is that nobody ever looks up."

As her words seemed to dawn on him, she jumped onto his shoulder, landing as gracefully as a cat and knocking the torch to the ground. It burned out instantly. He threw her off in a blink of course, but she had expected it, and used the momentum to roll to her feet when she hit the ground. He threw himself after her, staggering when she sidestepped.

She was pleasantly surprised that he was, just as she had suspected that day on the battlefield, her equal in hand to hand combat. He barely dodged her swift attempts to stab him with her blades, but in return she was hard-pressed to retaliate after the swipes with his sword left her unbalanced.

Several times she embedded one of her disposable throwing daggers in his armor, but thick as it was he took no damage from it what so ever. It only served to make him angrier.

She flung herself at him, kicking hard into his chest. It barely knocked him over. As she again and again failed to topple him, she grew ever more frustrated. Why could she not do this? She had had no problems with killing anyone, before this demacian commander had gotten in her way. Tonight was the second time he had come in the way for her assassination of prince Jarvan, and yet she could not manage to kill him. Why was he so much harder to kill than anyone else? It was only a big guy in armor, after all.

She thought, maybe a few times he had gotten close to killing her too, but that was part of the excitement. She did not wish to die, not by a long shot, but she could not help thinking that dying at the hands of a worthy opponent was better than dying in old in bed.

At one point he threw her two daggers back at her, the ones she had used back in his camp. She caught them deftly in her hands, staring back at him in surprise. Why would he give her back her weapons? That was two more chances she would get to kill him.

"I don't expect my weapons back when I kill someone," she told him as she somersaulted over him, landing behind and stabbed one of the daggers in his shoulder; it merely glanced off.

"I don't suppose you do," he grunted, as he grabbed her arm and threw her on the ground. The move surprised her so much that it worked; she hit the forest floor hard, staring up at him with wide eyes.

This was it. She would die now. And as she expected, she found she was not really that sorry: it was a good way to go, against an equally matched opponent. There was something honorable about dying in battle.

She stared up into his blue eyes, shining in the moonlight, as he raised his sword to kill her. Paralyzed by the sudden fearful sensation that crept up her spine, she did not move. Her breath came short and shallow as she watched the determination on his face, so full of righteous anger and justice, come to a halt.

Not quite sure what was happening, she watched as he lowered his blade, sheathing it once more and stepping away from her.

"Go home Katarina," he said, sounding suddenly very tired. Without another word, he turned on his heels and started walking back towards his camp.

"If you run, you won't see me stab you!" she called after him as he walked, getting to her feet and drawing her daggers once more.

He stopped to look at her. "But I'm not running, am I?"


	3. Chapter 3

"She escaped?" Jarvan was livid. Even as the healers begged him to sit still and let them tend his wound, so close to his heart, he raged. "How could she have escaped, Garen? She comes unseen into our camp, nearly kills me, and escapes! How did it happen? Why did no one spot her?"

"If Katarina does not wish to be heard, she will not be," Lux said from the corner, glaring at her brother. It seemed like she somehow knew what had happened in the forest, that he had let her go.

"We should still be able to stop assassins sneaking into our camp!"

"Yes," Garen agreed, "though this time she did not manage to kill you."

Jarvan scoffed. "This time."

Garen sucked in a breath as one of the healers cleaned one of the many cuts he had received in the battle with the assassin. Jean wanted to comfort him, but his scowl warned her not to try. He wished she was not here; she was too doting, too worried about him to be of any comfort when he was injured, even if only slightly. None of his wounds were deep; his armor had taken most of the hits. Katarina would also have few wounds, but due to her flexibility and speed rather than her armor. He almost chuckled; what she wore barely qualified as clothes as far as he was concerned, let alone armor.

Why had he not killed her? He had certainly had the chance. She had no way of escaping when she lay there on the ground. He had pulled his sword on her, ready to thrust it into her chest. He had been ready to finish her life. It would have ended the threat to Jarvan, he knew. That alone should have been enough to make him kill her. It would have ended her threat to him and his sister too, for he knew now that neither of them would be safe from her retribution. But he had not done it. When he saw the fearful look in her emerald eyes, he could not kill her. In Demacia, killing the innocents were a great crime. She was not innocent, he knew. She was responsible for the deaths of many of his men, even of several of his officers. But she had, in that moment looked utterly innocent, and he could not have killed her.

He left the tent moments later, followed by a very thoughtful Lux. She let them walk in silence until they reached the tent they shared before cornering him.

"What happened in that forest?" She demanded, glaring at him.

"We fought," he grumbled as he removed the last bits of his heavy armor. He had quite a few shallow cuts all over his body, he saw as most of his clothes fell to the floor. Lux appraised them.

"Why did she not kill you?"

"Because I didn't give her the chance," he snapped, glaring up at her. "Why, do you want me dead?"

The look in her eyes softened instantly as she stepped up and hugged him.

"Of course not, brother. I was worried sick for you."

"Then _why _would you think she should have killed me?"

Lux sighed. "Because that is what she does! There's no way she would have let you survive two encounters with her if she didn't have a thought behind it. That's what's worrying me. What is her plan?"

He stepped back from his sister, looking sternly down at her.

"Luxanna, I am more than a match for Katarina Du Couteau. Don't worry about it." He planted a kiss on his sister's forehead, before laying down on his own bed. With a reluctant sigh, she copied him. From her own bed on the other side of the tent, she sighed.

"You should really be more appreciative of Jean you know. She's head over heels for you."

"Did she tell you that while you were drooling over her brother?"

His tone affronted her.

"What's the matter with you? Ever since you met her, you've been different."

"Have not," he answered, very conscious of how childish the argument sounded. But he had not changed, not really. He would have chased any assassin who had tried to kill Jarvan the same. _But, _a small voice whispered in his head as he drifted off to sleep, _would you have let anyone else escape?_

He returned to the forest the following night. He was not sure why he had done so, but something about the place seemed right to him. He found the clearing they had fought in quickly enough; two of her throwing daggers still lay there, glinting quietly in the moonlight. He was not wearing his heavy armor today, as he did not expect company. Their reports from the noxian camp had said that it was in an uproar; they would be too busy to come looking in the forest for any stray demacians. He was not sure what drew him there. It would be the fact that this was the place where his mind had unconciuoisly decided to spare Katarina's life. Why he had done so he still did not know, but being here eased his mind a bit. Maybe it did not matter that he had not killed her. He was not sure how long he stood in the clearing, leaning against one of the trees, but a sound of someone approaching made him look up.

The sound of blades being unsheathed was just enough warning for him to draw his own blade, parrying the strike of the double curved blades. He pushed her away easily; there was not enough force behind her strike to unbalance him.

"What are you doing here, Katarina?"

Her grin flashed in the moonlight as she stepped to the side, brandishing her blades once more.

"I came her to relax, but since you're here…" She licked her lips as she charged again, this time aiming for his gut. He raised his arm to shove her aside, but she bounced harmlessly off it like she had expected it.

"Get away, Katarina. I've no intention of fighting you."

For a second she looked puzzled, but she quickly regained her composure and charged again, this time giving him a shallow slash across his cheek. By pure reflexes he lifted his sword and jabbed it at her. She grinned widely as he followed up with a charge.

For every stab he made, she dodged. For every slash she made in return he either parried it or forced her back by the tip of his sword.

"Why do you fight with daggers, Katarina? A blade is much more efficient."

"Says the man who is out of his armor for the first time in ten years," she answered mockingly, as she jumped towards him, resting her outstretched arms on his shoulders before tossing herself down behind him. "I do not usually fight swords, as I am sure you are aware. Why be weighed down by something heavy when my work requires swiftness and flexibility?"

He jabbed his sword against her once more, only to once again find nothing but air where she had stood seconds before.

"Missed," the breathless voice of the assassin whispered in his ear, but when he turned around to face her, she was already gone. Her ghost laughter echoed around him, and he found that to his own surprise he was enjoying their fight, even if he had wanted to be left alone.

After one of his blind swipes with the sword, something red fell to the ground. Bending over to pick it up, he realized it was a lock of her hair, parted from the rest by his sharp blade. She came to a stop in her dance in front of him, holding her hand to her hair. She looked at the red strands in his hand, and the confusing expression on his face.

He thrust his hand out to her. "Here."

She merely laughed. "You keep them. Something to remember me by."

"As if I'm likely to forget the one who tries to kill me daily," he grumbled, but she merely laughed again, and suddenly she was standing in front of him again, her face inches from his. Although several inches shorter than he was, and as she came even closer, he was suddenly acutely aware of how unprotected he was without his armor.

"Could you stop doing that?" He asked, trying not to stare at her form, even though he could feel every inch of it pressed up against his.

"What's the matter, Might of Demacia? Live a little."

He was not sure why her presence was so intoxicating. The smell of her breath made him feel dizzy, like it had the first time they had crossed blades. It had to be the thrill of a proper fight; that must be it. He could come up with no other reason for his desire to fight her again. When he remained unresponsive, frozen in the chaos of his thoughts and her confusing behavior, she looked a little disappointed; what had she expected him to do? Had she wanted him to push her away and start fighting again? That was a desire he, as a warrior, could certainly both understand and respect. The desire to fight a worthy opponent gave his life meaning every time he went onto the field of battle, and he fought on in the hopes of one day finding his equal. And now he had. He had found his equal, the one who matched his every move, in this noxian assassin, who was now backing away from him with a mischievous smile on her face.

"Until we meet again," she whispered, disappearing into shadows as she left.

* * *

"What's wrong with you, Katarina?" Talon asked, looking curiously at his adoptive sister. Katarina sat polishing her blades, thinking of the encounter she had had with the demacian in the forest. It had been _fun_.

"I've never known you to be less bloodthirsty than you are now."

"My dear Talon, do not mistake my indulgence for weakness." She hesitated, not sure she wanted to explain to him what was going on. After a brief hesitation, she decided to do it.

"I find I have a strange lust for his blood… But yet I am reluctant to kill him. If I kill him, if I end it, there will no more fights left to enjoy." The words had an odd taste on her tongue, but it was true; she was reluctant to kill him. She had enjoyed having a proper fight, rather than the assassinations she was otherwise so very good at.

Talon looked at her in confusion. She sighed.

"I want to kill him. I want to kill him. It's maddening! I want to kill him; I want to see his blood spilled on my daggers. But if I kill him, then what? I go back to assassinating people? My dear Talon, you know how much fun I think that is, but this is something different." She studied her brother's impassive face as she spoke, but true to his nature, he did not give anything away.

Finally, after a long silence, he spoke. "I fear it might be true what they say; women are ruled by their passions." She made a disdainful noise as she waved away his concern.

"I have worked too long to ignore my emotions for them to come to play now. I am not a novice at this, Talon. I have no emotions anymore."

With a shake of his head, he chucked. "Fear is also an emotion, Katarina." He left her to ponder his words in silence.

* * *

"Luxanna, the darling of Demacia," the prince announced in a booming voice as he entered the vast council hall. Lux almost blushed; almost. Jean giggled. He was grinning wildly, finally all healed from the wound he had received from the assassin. Garen had not seen her for weeks now, and frequently stopped himself from saying, even thinking her name.

But while the prince still smiled, he seemed to have lost some of the light in his eyes as he spoke. "There has been a recent development in Kalamanda; they've decided to contract out their mines out to only one city-state, rather than several, which were previously suggested."

Garen was not surprised. Kalamanda was a small, nondescript village, with few resources on their own. They traded with those who wished to trade, but were otherwise left to themselves. Over the recent months, however, they had stationed a delegation there, hoping to win the now-exclusive mining contract.

"I had hoped that you would go there, Lux, as a personal favor to me. I need someone I can trust to oversee things."

Lux nodded, always quick to agree to stuff like this. She liked being in the know about things, and was more than intelligent and trusted enough to make decisions on behalf of Demacia and Jarvan.

Garen looked up. "What about me?"

Jarvan clapped his hand to Garen's shoulder. "I need you here, my friend. Jean will make me go crazy if I won't have your sister to keep a hand on her. Besides," he said, winking, "I thought it might soon be time for that longed-for wedding of yours."

Garen shrugged; Jarvan laughed. It was not news to Jarvan that Garen had no real wish to marry his sister, but he also knew that the reason he had agreed to it was so that they would be brothers in-law, and to stop Jean from having to marry someone she did not fancy. He liked the girl, sort of, in a younger-sister kind of fashion. He was protective of her, but felt nothing more towards her.

Jean nearly feinted with delight, and Lux was forced to suppress a laugh.

"I'm glad we got you back from the noxians," Lux said, laughing full out now. Jarvan laughed as well, but it sounded forced; Jarvan had never spoken of the few days he had spent as a prisoner of Swain, waiting to either be held for ransom or executed. It turned out that Swain would not bother to hold him for ransom, and had decided to execute him before setting off back to Noxus, calling off the war for now.

It was _very_ lucky that Garen had decided to take the upper crust of the Vanguard straight into the noxian camp, rescuing Jarvan at the eve of his would-be execution. They had made quite a spectacle about it too, with Garen cutting down Urgot, and Jarvan inflicting Swain with a mortal wound. Draven, their executioner, had been furious to see them escape, and had thrown axes at them until the reached their own camp and stayed behind its walls. However, Jarvan was not the only person they had taken from the noxian camp.

"How is our prisoner?" Jean asked fearfully, as if reading his mind.

Again, Garen shrugged. "She is as comfortable as can be. She certainly seems to prefer the dungeons of the castle to the make-shift cell we put her in until we broke camp."

"She gives me the creeps," Jean said, shuddering as she stepped into what she hoped would be Garen's comforting and protective arms. He gave her an awkward pat on the back, and watched helplessly as the young woman clung to him.

"Why were you down to see her anyway?" Jarvan asked, distracted. It was clear he did not approve of his sister visiting the dungeons.

Jean swallowed against Garen's chest before she spoke. "I'm not brave like any of you. I thought maybe if I faced my fears…" she trailed off into silence; apparently it had not worked.

"Noxians are nothing to be afraid of," Garen said, again giving her an awkward pat on the back.

"Jean is not afraid of noxians," Lux said, smiling sadly at the girl clutching him. "Jean is afraid of snakes."


	4. Chapter 4

Katarina returned breathless to Noxus after her weeks of traveling the northern lands, looking for information on her father. Swain had encouraged her, for though it was well-known that Swain wished control of the High Command, it was also well-known that Swain had immense respect for General Du Couteau.

She was full of grime and dirt, but at the moment she did not particularly care. She was looking for Talon; she had leads for him to follow up, while she continued the work for the HIgh Command. But Talon was not at their house, nor was Cassiopeia. She supposed the two were taking a romantic stroll around the noxian slums, like they did from time to time. Cassiopeia was absolutely smitten with their adoptive brother. Deciding the news were not so important that she wished to disturb the small piece of happiness they had found, she instead took a shower and changed her clothes. There would be time enough to tell her news. It was well into the night before anyone returned, however. And Talon was alone.

He was clearly beyond shock in seeing her sitting in the dining room, wearing one of her dresses for once, a white lotus flower in her hair.

"What are you doing here?" He stuttered after he had gotten over his shock. She smiled at him.

"Talon, I have news of the General."

She looked around him, hoping to see her sister as well, to share the news with both of them.

"Where's Cassie?"

Then she looked at him again, and saw what she had missed before. His face was torn with turmoil and terror. Such a look on his normally impassive face scared her.

"Taken," he finally managed to say. "Kidnapped."

Her vision going red, she demanded he tell her what happened, while she ran to her room and changed into one of her many identical outfits of tight leather and armor breastplates, pulling on her spiked boots and gloves before strapping throwing daggers onto every belt, before placing the two curved daggers in the sheaths on her back. The only thing she left was the flower in her hair.

Once Talon started talking, his story came swiftly. Nearly a week after she had left, they had managed to capture the demacian prince while he was on a scouting mission. The guards he had had with him had been swiftly executed by Draven, and after deciding he was better off dead than as a prisoner, had very nearly executed the prince as well. That was when it had all gone wrong. The commander of the Vanguard, that meddlesome, annoying Garen Crownguard had stormed the camp with barely ten men, not only rescuing their prince, but cutting down Urgot, mortally wounding Swain, and taken Cassiopeia when she tried to stop them.

She should have killed the commander every time she had had the chance, and ten times over again. Had she known he would kidnap her sister, she would have done so the first time they met, whatever the price.

They took two horses from the stables, and set out at daybreak. Katarina wanted to ride at a break-neck speed, but Talon forced her to let the horses rest from time to time. They barely spoke as they travelled, taking a week to reach Demacia. During their brief conversations, she had informed him on her leeds, and urged him to continue her work with Cassiopeia.

"What will you do?" He had asked grimly as she told him this, but she had refused to tell him. If he knew, he would stop her.

She left Talon in a tavern on the outskirts of Demacia, along with their horses and remaining supplies. He was to refill and rest while she left to find Cassie.

"Wait," he called as she was about to leave through the tavern door. It was late at night, but he tucked something behind her ear. She looked in the mirror to see a lotus flower, like the one she had worn the day he had told her Cassiopeia had been kidnapped. Her father had used to put lotus flowers in her hair when she was younger.

"For luck," he told her as he kissed her forehead. "If you are not here before daybreak, I will leave, as you asked."

She nodded. "Good." She did not tell him that she had no intention of returning whatsoever, but if neither she nor Cassiopeia returned, he did not want him to linger; she wanted him to go after their father.

It was late evening as she made her way towards the castle in her hooded cloak. She had not put the hood up; it would be counter-productive if they did not recognize her.

Demacia was very different from Noxus. Where Noxus was dark and dingy, Demacia was lit up and open. Crime was probably next to nothing in this town, but she somehow doubted it had anything to do with the lighted streets, and rather due to the harsh punishments for thefts. One loaf of bread stolen meant loosing one finger; repeating the offense the whole hand. The streets were full of people, laughing and celebrating something. She briefly wondered what, as there were no celebrations she was aware of at the moment. Winter solstice was already over, and it was still months until the summer solstice.

Despite all the people, the way to the palace compound was almost too easy to find. She was surprised to realize that none of the people she met recognized her, despite her appearance. Every Demacian she had met in the field of battle had recognized her by her scar.

Two guards stood outside the entrance to the palace grounds.

_Perfect_.

She approached them soundlessly. Neither of them realized she was there before it was far too late. The first man fell to the ground, dead. In the throng of intoxicated people, however, not one demacian noticed. So much for their vigilance, she thought. The other guard she held in front of her as a shield, one of her curved blades pressed against his windpipe.

"Call for your commander," she ordered him in silent tones as she stepped away from the close gate, enabling the guards on top of the wall to realize what was going on. They had arrows on her in an instant, but the call for his commander did not go unheeded; no arrows fired at her.

Panic spread among the passing crowd as they realized what was going on. Wails sounded from women in the crowd, but she ignored them.

"Who are you? What do you want?" A voice came from the gates as they opened to reveal a thin, wiry man in his finest armor.

"Who are you?" She asked, not recognizing the man for anyone she had seen.

"I am commander Blaise, in charge of the protection of this castle and its grounds! State your business, or we'll kill you right as you stand!"

She dismissed his threats. "You wouldn't want yet another of your men to die, would you?" When the captain hesitated, she added, "I thought not."

"Fetch the commander of the Dauntless Vanguard," she commanded. "He has something that belongs to me."

She waited impatiently for the man to do as she had said, every once in a while tightening the grip on the soldier she held in front of her. He was crying, but she felt no pity for him.

It did not take long for both the commander and the prince to appear in the open gate, both looking very grim, and to her surprise, very dashing. They were both wearing the dress uniforms of the demacian military.

"Why, did I interrupt something?" She asked, a sly grin spreading on her face.

"As a matter of fact, you did." Garen told her, but he did not look entirely unpleased. "What do you want?"

"As I told the messenger, you have something that belongs to me. I want it back."

"And what would that be?"

"My sister," she said smoothly, studying his face as she spoke. He showed no surprise at her answer.

"Why would we trade your sister, the daughter of a General of Noxus, for the life of a foot soldier?" Jarvan shot in, looking disdainfully at her. "We do not appreciate you coming here and interrupting our pre-wedding feast."

"And I do not appreciate you taking my sister," she shot back, glaring at him. "But I am not offering him," she said, shaking the soldier so that her blade drew blood, "for the life of my sister."

"Surely you do not expect us to just release her to you, and send you both on your way." She sent an irritated glance at Jarvan before turning back to the commander she had sought out.

"I do not," she replied, her voice silky once again.

"Then what exactly is you doing here, Katarina?" Garen asked, irritation rising in his voice as her reasons remained unveiled.

"I am offering you a trade," she said, glancing at the soldier before her. He had stopped struggling. "One sister for another."

Both Garen and Jarvan stood stunned after she had made her proposal.

"Why would we agree to such a thing when we could just have you shot on the spot?" Garen asked, motioning to the archers stationed on the wall.

"Because I am of more use to you alive," she answered, having thought out all her answers previously. "Besides, if you wanted to kill me, you have had your chance already."

Garen looked at Jarvan, who nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"If you release the soldier, and let us apprehend you without resisting, Cassiopeia will be released." The commander set the conditions she herself would have set for such an exchange, and they were reasonable.

She looked from Garen to Jarvan, who nodded his ascent. "I will release him and go with you if you swear to me that my sister will go free. She is to be escorted by two of your men to the Rusty Nail, where she will arrive _unharmed_, and be allowed to go free from there. If she is harmed in _any_ way, I will know."

Jarvan was about to open his mouth to speak when she silenced him with a look, and pointed at Garen. It would be he who swore to her; her sister's safety would lie with him.

"I swear on the prince's life that your sister…" She interrupted him with a shake of her head. He fell silent.

"Swear it on your _honor_," she said, her voice steely. It would be his word, and his honor. He would not break either, not even on account of her.

To his credit, he did not hesitate. "I swear upon my honor that Cassiopeia will be escorted to the Rusty Nail and leave Demacia unharmed."

She released the soldier and sheathed her blade the moment he had finished speaking. The soldier ran from her that second, but she did not care. Two other guards stepped forwards to grab her arms, but she waved them away. With a small smile, she watched as they shrunk back, afraid of her.

With her head held high, she walked straight up to Garen, standing in front of him.

"There is no reason to apprehend me. My sister will go free; I will stay."

He nodded, and waved away the second pair of guards that had been approaching them. Garen ordered several of the guards to get her sister from the dungeons. They stayed there in silence as they waited for the task's completion.

When her sister finally came into view, a sad smile formed on her lips. Her sister looked very distressed and confused, and slithered straight into her arms. Katarina stroked her leather hair as she hugged her close.

"Be brave, Cassie," she said. "Talon is waiting for you," she added in a whisper. "Kill the guards."

With tears in her slit-pupil eyes, she nodded, embracing her sister for one last hug.

"I'll see you soon, Cassie."

"Goodbye," the half-serpent that was her once-beautiful sister said in a choked voice as two guards stepped up to escort her away. It was only when Cassiopeia was out of sight that Katarina noticed who had escorted her from the prison.

"Ah, Viscero. My father told me about you."

With a determined look on her face she turned to Garen again. "Shall we?"

* * *

It was safe to say that he had been beyond shocked when commander Blaise had appeared at the banquet, looking and speaking as though a dragon stood outside the door, waiting patiently to be let it. The entire dinner party had been disrupted by this, and Jean had looked scandalized as he and Jarvan excused themselves to follow Blaise back to the gates of the palace.

He had to admit to himself that he had been more than surprised to see Katarina there. It had been a thought when they kidnapped her sister, that she might come for her, but they had had Cassiopeia for a week already, and no Katarina had shown up. But there she had been, blazing in the lighted Demacia like a dancing fire in the sun, holding her blade to one of the guards, having already killed the other.

What had taken him aback was not her demand for her sister's freedom, but rather the fact that she had, instead of outright threatening them, offered herself in exchange. That had definitely been a surprise. However, there was one thing he found even more puzzling. She had asked for _his _word for her sister's safety, rather than accepting the prince's, who in all fairness held much more power than Garen did. In addition to wanting his word, she had also wanted his vow. Not on the prince's life, as he would have given her originally, nor on his own, which would have been his second choice for a sworn oath. But she had asked for a vow on his honor. Did she really think his honor meant more to him than his life? If she did not, then why had she asked for it?

He stared at the noxian assassin as she stood before him, for once not trying to kill him. Why she did not he did not know, but she smiled slightly as she looked around.

"Demacia is a beautiful city," she said, looking at the painted castle walls as she spoke.

Not knowing what on Earth he could reply to this, he grunted his ascent and looked at Jarvan, silently asking what they should do now.

Jarvan only shrugged. "On your honor," he said, giving Garen a wink. "You're in charge of her. I'm going back to the feast." With a drunken yawn the crown prince left, strutting slightly as he walked past the only woman in the Vanguard, the half-dragon.

With a sigh, he ignored Katarinas raised eyebrow in response to the prince's comment, and started walking back into the palace. She followed easily, her eyes taking in everything she saw as they preceded through the palace grounds, walking past several large water-fountains and two dozen guards on their way. From a ways off, they could hear the ruckus of the feast still in action.

"Who's getting married, anyway?" She asked, looking curiously after the sounds.

"I am," he grumbled, glaring at the ground as he spoke. He was so preoccupied with his own thoughts about Jean that he almost did not notice that the noxian assassin missed a step.

He stopped and turned to look at her as she balanced herself quickly.

The look of skepticism on her face was almost amusing. It would have been, if he had been joking.

"No," she said, looking from him to Xin Zhao who was walking behind them, silent as always. "No," she repeated, as she looked around at the faces of the soldiers surrounding them in disbelief.

"Really? I never thought you'd be the type to settle down, Might of Demacia."

He shrugged, and started walking again. She followed him, and as they walked in silence for a few more minutes, he realized that he had not taken her weapons away. That would normally be the guard's duty, but he himself had allowed her to walk on her own without being restrained. Why had he done it? Did he trust her not to harm him? No, that was absolutely not true. He did not trust her not to hurt any of his men either, and yet he had not taken her blades away. She could have killed several of his men the moment they stepped inside the walls, or any time for that matter. But she had not done it.

Perhaps noticing him staring at her weapons, she answered his silent question. "What good would it do me to kill a few of your men? I have no chance in escaping them all. Besides, it would be poor repayment after you so kindly let my sister go."

"Why would someone like you offer yourself in trade for Cassiopeia?" He asked, looking at her curiously as they walked on. It seemed like an odd thing for the assassin to do, somehow.

"She is my sister," she answered, almost inaudibly. "What would you not have done for yours?"


	5. Chapter 5

Jean had been thoroughly upset with him the next day as he went to see the assassin now in one of their cells, as it involved being away from her all day. Typically the pre-wedding traditions stated that the bride and groom were to stay together, but in such circumstances she could hardly expect him to not do anything about the deadly threat in their midst.

For although Katarina had relinquished her weapons without resisting the night before, she had not looked all too happy about it, and Garen knew that she was proficient in killing without weapons. Despite what she said of her reason for being there, to rescue her sister, he was also sure there was another reason, one she had not mentioned to them when she arrived. Furthermore, the two guards he had sent to accompany Cassiopeia the previous night had not returned. He had been informed that morning that their bodies had been discovered on the outskirts of Demacia, wearing only their underthings. Frustrated beyond belief with the noxian assassin, especially considering his inability to shut down his thoughts during the night, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he entered the interrogation room she had been placed in.

"Rough night?" She asked, moving her gaze from studying the wall to look at him as he entered.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he said, trying not to get too annoyed about the fact that she had guessed - spot on - that he was beyond frustrated.

She sighed. "I do suppose your nights are none of my business."

"Damn right," he mumbled, before looking at her properly. She wore the same outfit as she always wore, but with the throwing daggers and her twin blades removed. Her spiked boots and gloves were also gone, but the white lotus flower in her hair remained, looking dazzling against her fiery red hair, despite its sorry shape.

"The prince has asked me to interrogate you, but otherwise you are under my supervision, and my command. As is everyone else in the castle, at least of military rank."

She folded her arms defiantly across her chest, leaning back in her chair. "And you expect I will tell you everything I know about everything, do you?"

Garen sighed. "I do not expect that. I'm quite sure you won't tell me anything, but I still need to give it a try." And it will get me away from Jean for a few days, he thought to himself, smiling wryly.

"I am trained in torture, you know. On both the giving and the receiving end. I don't break."

"I'm sure you don't," he agreed, wondering what mad father would allow his daughter to be tortured for training. Torture was rarely used in Demacia, only under very special circumstances, and only when approved by the king himself.

"Is there anything you are not trained in?" He asked, mostly out of amusement more than anything else. She seemed so skilled at everything she put her hands to, it was hard to imagine her doing anything badly.

She seemed to think about it for a while. "I can't cook."

He very nearly laughed. Of all the things she could have said, like military tactics or covert operations, she had chosen to reveal that she could not cook.

"My sister does though; she makes an excellent creme brûlée."

At the mention of her sister, he immediately remembered what had been, until the moment he actually set eyes on her, the most pressing question on his mind.

"Those soldiers I sent to protect her turned up dead this morning," he said, glaring at her. All humor disappeared from her demeanor at once.

"Good."

"You had someone waiting there for her."

"Of course I did. I was not going to risk my own life to get her away from you, just so she could die alone on her journey home. I'm not heartless, you know."

"Who was it?"

"None of your business," she said curtly, glaring at him.

He sighed. He was not likely to get it out of her if she wished not to tell.

"Did you tell her to kill them?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"So that they would not report back to you who they'd seen leaving, of course." She rolled her eyes, as this should have been obvious to him. The thought had crossed his mind, but he had not been sure that was the only reason. He still wasn't.

"Are you sure you just didn't want to throw your power around a little? Proving that you may have gone willingly, but that you will not stay quietly?"

She shrugged. "You put too much thought into my actions, Might of Demacia."

They sat in silence for a while, contemplating each other. This was a different Katarina than the one he had met in battle; she seemed less playful somehow, as if she had lost a spark.

A question occurred to him, one he had said to himself last night that he would ask that day.

"Where have you been the last weeks?"

"Why, missed me?" It was a rather feeble joke.

"I would be mad to miss the one trying to kill me every day," he replied smoothly, as he scrutinized her face for any hits of emotion. He saw none.

He sighed. It was a strange feeling, sitting here and talking with the noxian assassin. As the time passed in silence when she had nothing more to say, he sat, half expecting her to pounce on him. She did not, however. She sat twirling the white lotus flower in her fingers, mesmerized by it.

"What's with the flower?" He finally asked, after hours of silence between them.

She looked up, her green eyes flashing before returning to her flower. "The Lotus is a symbol of inner peace and beauty, of life and death. The lotus flower grows from the muddy waters, rising above it all to shine brightly on the surface, before finally succumbing to its dirty roots in death." She sighed, throwing the flower to the floor. "The General used to give me bouquets upon bouquets of white lotus flowers, all the while maintaining that I was more beautiful than them all."

The General? "Who is the General?" He asked, having never heard of someone known just as 'the general'. Was it someone she loved, perhaps? Did she even have a love? That was a thought that had never crossed his mind; she had always seemed so bloodthirsty, so ruthless. But only hours before she had told him that she had a heart. Did it belong to this general? He could not point his finger at _why_ this matter was so focused in his mind, nor why it made him curious to know more.

She almost looked disbelieving. "General DuCouteau. My father."

Of course, he realized. General DuCouteau, one of the fiercest generals of the High Command. If _he_ was her father, it was perhaps no surprise that she had turned out the way she had, a killer for the noxian ways. Or perhaps it was despite having him for a father that she had become an assassin.

"He must be proud of you," he said, it being the only thing that came to his mind. His father was at least proud of him for what he had accomplished within the military; he could not imagine any father not being proud of his children's accomplishments.

They did not speak again until it was time for dinner, and he left the room. She was escorted back to her cell by Xin Zhao and Shyvana, the only two members of the royal guard he would deem strong enough to fight an bladeless Katarina, should she decide to make a break for it.

"Good night, Might of Demacia," she called from down the hall, the derisive cheerfulness back in her voice as it faded away.

* * *

The following days were tiresome. It had been her fourth day spent in the interrogation room with Garen, and she was none the wiser. After his first interview he had returned with a deck of cards, and they spent the next day entirely asking each other for cards. It was such a strange thing to do, that she had not had the time to consider the reason she had been so willing to trade herself for her sister.

Even after three days spent entirely in his company, and four nights to reflect upon it, she had still not managed to grasp what it was about him that made her effectively unable to kill him. There had been several times she had been sure that he had given her opportunities, like leaving a knife on the lunch tray one of the guards had brought in. She had seen that he had noticed it, but he had not removed it. Did he trust her not to kill him? No, he would not be that stupid. Blinded by honor he might be, but stupid he was not. But then, if he was stupid to trust her not to kill him, why had she not done so? She had, after all, noticed the knife much quicker than he had; snatching it and thrusting it into his neck would have been easy. But she had not. She had waited for him to notice it, and not touched it.

But she was back in her cell now, as the Might of Demacia had left to have dinner. She was left alone to his thoughts, and fully expected to remain that way for the rest of the night.

It was therefore a surprise when the door to her cell opened, and it was not Xin Zhao and Shyvana, come to take her back to the interrogation room again. It was a young woman, barely of age. She was carrying a small tray; it was rattling slightly.

Katarina raised her eyebrows slightly as she looked the girl over. She was skinny, and looked like she had not slept in days. Her golden hair was a proper mess.

"Who are you?" Katarina asked as the girl set down the tray of food on her floor. It looked to be some kind of soup and bread.

"Not the one you were expecting, I'm sure." The girl sounded almost smug, in stark contrast to the fear in her eyes. Katarina shrugged. She had not really expected anything, except for maybe Garen returning to play cards. It had become a habit, something to break the otherwise tedious dungeon life.

"Why is Garen Crownguard spending so much time with you? What are you talking about?"

So that was the reason the young girl had come; to snoop.

"I don't see how that is any of your business," she replied, her voice cold. Who this girl was she had no idea, but it obviously worried her what Garen and Katarina did while alone. Maybe it was his baby sister?

"I'll have you tortured if you don't answer me," the girl threatened. The impression was slightly ruined by her shaking hands. Katarina barely contained a laugh.

"I am not afraid of you, child. Go play outside, like a good little girl." She laid back down, lounging on her small bed.

"I'm seventeen," the girl shrieked, stamping her foot hard to the floor. Her face was flushed with angry indignation.

"Such a big girl," Katarina crooned mockingly. "Isn't it past your bedtime? If you stick around though, I expect Garen will come soon. Why don't you wait for him, child? You can see what we really do when we're alone." Her insinuation was the last straw for the golden-haired girl. She flew at Katarina with her scrawny hands, clang at any bit of Katarina's exposed skin she could reach.

As soon as she had started, Katarina grasped the girl's wrist and wrenched her around. The girl shrieked in pain as her arm was bent out of shape. Katarina forced her out of the door the girl had left unlocked. Such a stupid child.

"Did you feel brave, coming to see a caged killer, child? But you see, when an animal is caged, it only becomes so much more dangerous." The girl whimpered.

She scouted the corridor, and saw some guards standing at the end.

"Go get Shyvana," she commanded them. Two of the guards scrambled to do as told, and Katarina smiled to herself; even the guards were afraid of her. But she waited patiently for them to return. The two guards stopped at their post; only the half-dragon dared approached. The fierce woman looked dispassionately from Katarina to the girl wincing in pain.

"Please release the king's daughter."

"The king's daughter, you say? Such a shame to let her go unharmed back to her father, don't you think? Especially since she came unbidden into my cell to threaten me."

Shyvana's eyes flashed to the girl in anger, ignoring her whimpers.

"The prince will not be pleased that you are interfering with his business, princess."

"But Garen is spending so mcu time with her," the girl cried, her arm still wrenched behind her back.

"On the prince's orders, I'm sure." Shyvana looked back at Katarina. "Release her."

Katarina sighed. "But toying with her was so much fun. I thought she was Garen's sister, you know," she said as she let go of the princess. When the princess turned, she looked affronted.

"His sister? I'm to be his bride!"

Desipte the giro's solemn conviction and Shyvana's sober nods, Katarina was not quite sure she believed it; why would Garen want to marry a child?

"Just leave," Katarina said, waving her hand. About to close the door to her cell, she called for Shyvana once more; a thought had struck her.

"It will work out. He will see sense in the end. From what I hear, he is nothing like his father."

The look in her eyes softened. "I believe so, too."

Alone in her cell once more, she waited. For the second time today, she waited for Garen to come. She was absolutely sure he would come later, since his bride-to-be had been there.

A few hours later she was proven right. Instead of having Xin Zhao and Shyvana fetching her, however, he came to her cell himself, and seemed intent on staying there.

"You haven't eaten anything," was the first thing he said.

She shrugged. "Thought your fiancé might have poisoned it."

He scowled as he sat down on the chair in the room, pulled with its back towards the door.

"I thought Shyvana was pulling my leg when she told me Jean had visited you."

Katarina raised an eyebrow. "The princess seemed to be under the impression that I was pulling something rather different when we were alone."

His face turned slowly red as he tried to shrug it off.

"She does not know what she is talking about."

"I noticed. Children rarely understand adult matters."

"Jean is not a child," he shot in, glaring at her.

"She is seventeen, the princess said. I call that a child. How much younger than you is she, anyway?"

He shrugged. "Ten years, I think."

She could feel her jaw fall open, but closed it quickly. This was not the time to show surprise.

"Marrying for love, I take it?"

"That's not any of your business."

Katarina cocked her head to the side. "That sounds like a 'no'."

"So what if it's an arranged marriage? What does it matter to you?"

That was a very good question, Katarina thought. She supposed it was because Jean had stormed in earlier, but she shrugged.

"Do you do anything that is not duty? Or honor?"

"Yes," he said curtly, removing his gaze from her.

"Like what?" She sat up, trying to catch his eyes. It was confusing how he could not look at her, or rather how he refused to look at her. She watched as his eyes trailed everywhere in the room, except for on her. Frustrated for some reason she could not fathom, she got to her feet and started pacing the small square room. The small window showed the dark blue sky outside; she guessed it was about midnight.

"Why are you so damn honorable? I don't get it. Demacia places such high value on honor, and valor, rather than strength and cunning. Where's the fun in being honorable, following the rules?"

"I'm not as honorable as you seem to think me," he muttered, burying his face in his hands. For the first time since she had met him, he looked distinctly bothered.

"When have you _ever_ done something _dishonorable_, Might of Demacia?"

She was not quite sure how it happened. One moment he was sitting on the chair, his hands in his face, and the next moment his hands were on her face, his lips on hers, pressed up against the wall. She could not be sure how long it lasted; perhaps a second, perhaps an hour, but it was likely not that long. It felt like an eternity, and Katarina found to her surprise that it was not at all unpleasant to kiss this man. This man was her enemy; it was by his word that she was locked up in the dungeons. It was his fiancé that had threatened to have her tortured. It was his prince she had tried to kill, had even tried to kill him, but right now it did not matter.

He withdrew shortly after she had realized this. The confusion in his bright blue eyes was evident.

"That was not very honorable," he said, closing his eyes and hanging his head.

She was not sure what to say. He _was_ right; she was not his fiancé, and he had kissed her. But did it have to be honorable? Why? Couldn't some things just be _nice_, despite how confused it left her? They stood in silence for a long time, still pressed against each other, but not looking at each other. Finally he raised his head; his eyes were still bright with confusion.

She waited for him to speak; it had been his move, after all. But he did not speak. Without saying a word, he half-way ran out of the room, slamming the door shut after himself.

Katarina was left in the gloomy cell, alone with her thoughts. She was at least as confused as he was; she had liked it. She had liked the feel of the demacian commander pressed against her, savored his taste on her lips. It was wrong, she knew. He was her enemy, and they were made to fight against each other. But when they had kissed, it had not felt wrong at all. It had felt wonderfully right. Fighting the conflicting feelings of pleasure for what happened, and the terrible betrayal such feelings was to Noxus and her family, she sank down on to the floor, not bothering to move to the bed.

This was the answer she had craved; this was why she had come. She had come to discover why she had not been able to kill the commander when presented with the chance. This was why. Because she had _feelings_ for him, that was why. She had not known it before, but she did now. Talon had been right; women were not suited to be assassins. They let emotions come in the way. What was wrong with her?


	6. Chapter 6

He laid awake that night, thinking about what had happened. Jean had tried to kiss him goodnight as she laid down next to him; also a demacian tradition, one designed to test endurance. For the week leading up to the wedding, alongside the feasts, the bride and groom were required to sleep in the same bed without touching each other. It was one of the more ridiculous demacian traditions, but right then Garen was quite happy that Jean could not touch him.

She fell asleep quickly, leaving him to his thoughts. He despised himself for the thoughts he was having. What they had started on the battlefield, their battle, felt very lost to him right now, as he thought about how the assassin had affected him. He had _kissed_ her. And she had not forced him. He had done it, he had wanted to do it. What was wrong with him? Why had he kissed the noxian assassin? She had taunted him, he told himself, time and time again. But it did nothing to help ease his guilt; just because she had said he never did anything dishonorable, which was a good thing, did not give him an excuse for his behavior.

He had been thinking about doing it for days; the comment about Jean being a child and him being to honorable had just been the last straw. He had _wanted_ to do it, and for that there could be no excuse. There was no excuse imaginable for him kissing Katarina, and yet he had not been able to help herself. He wished so badly he could put it down to a temporary absence of thought, but it was impossible; he had felt this way before in her presence, like he wanted to throw away everything he had worked so hard to accomplish, just for her. He was not sure what was going to happen now. He knew what he should do. He _should_ forget about it, have her executed, and marry Jean and live happily ever after, like his mother wanted. But was that what he wanted? He looked over at Jean, sleeping peacefully next to him, and he was sure.

It was not what he wanted. He did not want that life; he had never wanted that life, but he had accepted it; his family's honor demanded it. With his head full of confusing thoughts, he fell into an uneasy sleep, starring the vivid green eyes of Katarina.

* * *

The next day started badly. He had slept little, and whatever small peace he found was always interrupted by the red-haired assassin. Jean was still sleeping when he left the room, and he was grateful. He had been very pleased she had been sleeping when he arrived; he did not wish to discuss her reasons for going to see Katarina alone. As far as he was concerned, it was a miracle that Katarina had not killed her just for daring to approach. Jean might be a princess, but Katarina was deadly, and cared not for royalty. She had already proven it by trying to kill Jarvan twice.

Lost in his thoughts, he found himself standing before one of the larger ponds in the palace gardens. White lotuses grew there, blossoming above the waters. Lotuses. Death's gift.

"Garen!" The shootout came so unexpected he nearly jumped. Turning to see who was calling him, he saw Jarvan, walking clumsily towards him wearing only half his uniform. The bizarre sight almost set him chuckling; it would have, if not for the furious look on Jarvan's face.

"What's the matter?" He asked as the prince stopped in front of him.

"I need you to go get Katarina. My father wishes to see her in the great hall at once."

A cold feeling spread through Garen. Had the king found out what he had done the previous night? Would he kill _her_ for it, for tempting him? The king and Garen had not been especially close, but if he found out his daughter's fiancé had kissed the assassin, the assassin just might be considered enough of a problem to be disposed of.

"Take Xin Zhao. I'd rather you got there unharmed."

Alarmed, the commander nodded as the prince turned swiftly around and ran back towards the palace; Garen hoped he intended to wear his armor at the meeting, so there would be no rogue blades sticking from his chest today.

Garen found Xin Zhao at the edge of the garden, apparently already instructed by the king to accompany Garen to the dungeons. They walked down in silence, passing unsuspecting guards. Despite his own reverence for the demacian military, he was not surprised to see several of them missing fingers; thugs were usually giving second chances to serve their city.

When they entered the cell where she sat, they found her sitting in the lone chair, reading a book. She did not look up when they entered.

"A history of Runeterra?" The book snapped closed as he read the title aloud.

"Your library does not stock 'How to romance razorbacks'."

"I'm glad," he said, not knowing what else he could say. He rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable with being there, even if they were not alone.

She stood unbidden, looking from him to Xin. "Where are we going today?"

To his surprise, she looked different. Still deadly beautiful, as always, but she had dark circles under her eyes, looking like she had not slept much, and her hair had lost some of its shine in the dungeons.

"The king wishes to see you," he said automatically, and saw to his surprise a small smile formed on her lips. What did she know?

"Did his daughter complain?"

Garen shrugged, but felt suddenly unsure. Had Jean complained about her treatment in the dungeons? What had she expected? That Katarian would grovel at her feet, just because she was a princess? Noxians no longer had royalty, and seemed to think they were much better off without it.

"Princess Jean is not the reason behind your summons," Xin Zhao said unexpectedly from behind Garen. He turned to look at the battle-hardened warrior. Of course Xin would know; he was the king's closest companion.

"I expect we will find out soon enough." He and Xin left the dungeons with Katarina walking quietly between them. When they came out into the bright sunlight, he saw how different she really was. Nearly a week on only bread and soup and left her face looking tighter, but if anything that only served to make her look more deadly and determined. She had not lost anything anywhere else, with the exception of the spark he had seen in her eyes in battle so many times. When they walked through the gardens, he spotted the pond he had stood by just half an hour earlier, and walked briskly over to it. He returned moments later, a white lotus held gently in his hand. Watching a very skeptical Katarina carefully, he placed the flower in her hair, like she had worn it when she had arrived.

"Just in case you die today," he told her, watching the pure white flower against her striking red hair.

She nodded, but said nothing. Xin Zhao looked curiously at him, but he too remained silent.

They walked silently into the throne room. Wisely, the king had chosen to fill the room with guards to protect him. Somehow, Katarina did not seem worried about them.

Garen bowed to the king, as did Xin Zhao. Jarvan stood next to his father, but he did not look like he knew what was going on. Katarina stood straight up, refusing to bow to the demacian king.

"Bow," Garen muttered under his breath, but Katarina acted as if she had not heard.

"Welcome, miss Du Couteau," the king said. His deep voice resonated through the throne room, as Katarina nodded her greetings in return.

"We have received a letter from the League. It's about you. Do you have any idea what it says?"

"I have my suspicions, your majesty. There must be a powerful reason if you choose to tell me about it yourself."

It was almost imperceptible; had he not been looking for it, he might have missed it entirely, but it looked as if Katarina was pleased about something.

"According to the League, the Noxian High Command applied for you to be appointed as their ambassador to Demacia, and to the League. Did you yourself request this?"

She shrugged. "I applied to be an ambassador; not to anywhere in particular. If my memory serves me, I even seem to remember asking to _not_ be assigned Demacia. As I am sure you know, I have a lot of demacian blood on my hands, and I am under the impression that my duties as an ambassador would be poorly received here."

Garen was struck speechless as he listened to the woman talking so frankly to the king. Not only was she totally indifferent to whatever the king might feel about it, but she was also completely comfortable standing in the middle of a throne room full of soldiers ready to kill her. For his part, he did not really understand what was going on. When had Katarina applied to become an ambassador? And then she had been assigned Demacia? What did this mean? Would she stay for lengthy periods in the city? He was not sure how he felt about her staying after she was released, as she surely would be. He was still so profoundly confused from what had happened the previous night, so that his head seemed to work much slower than it usually did.

"Apparently, either the League or your own High Command has dismissed your wish. According to the letter we have received, which demands your imminent release, your new position came into effect two days ago." The king was _not _pleased. This was their only chance of keeping Katarina, and now it seemed to be slipping through their fingers.

"It would seem so."

Jarvan stood next to the king, silently glaring daggers at anyone who dared meet his eyes. Garen had never seen him so mad, not even when he had told Jarvan that Katarina had escaped after almost killing him.

The king looked decidedly sullen as he next spoke. "Seeing as you are now an ambassador, we have no authority to hold you here to stand trial for your crimes. I do not, however, wish to see you in Demacia again for a _very _long time. Dismissed."

And while Garen was still getting to his feet, Katarina turned around with a confident grin and strutted out of the throne room, leaving both Jarvan and Garen to half-run after her.

She stopped outside in the gardens, breathing in the fresh air as she looked around. One of her hands were twiddling the white flower in her hair.

"It's really beautiful here."

Garen nodded. "It is."

She turned to look at him and Jarvan. "I would like my weapons back."

Jarvan glared at her before sighing. "Garen, you deal with her. I just want her out of my sight." He turned on his heels and stalked off.

Remaining alone with Katarina, he motioned for her to follow him. He made his way to the same small room where he had first relieved her of her weapons, and started gathering her weapons from one of the shelves. The expression on her face when she got her hands on her twin curved blades was one of utmost affection and adoration. If her face did not speak of it clearly enough, the way she handled the blades most certainly did; every movement with them was as if caressing a lover. It was not unfamiliar for Garen to see weapons treated this way; it was with the same reverence and affection he treated his own sword, despite the terrible things he did with it.

"You knew you were going to be released when you traded yourself for Cassiopeia."

Katarina looked up, her trance with the blades broken as she strapped them to her back.

"I knew it was a possibility," she said slowly, looking carefully at him as she spoke. "I had no way of knowing if my request would be accepted; I didn't expect the High Command to even look at it for another two months. Truly, Garen, I did not know if I could escape here. You saw me when I arrived. I had accepted that I might die here."

"What was so important to you that you were willing to risk your life in Demacia to find?"

She gave him a wicked smile. "Maybe someday I'll tell you."

* * *

"Why _did _you get captured by the demacian troops?" Swain asked. He sounded more than curious. "I had never expected it of you, Katarina."

"I needed answers; Demacia seemed the only place likely I'd find them."

"Information? About what?"

"The General," she lied smoothly, keeping her eyes firmly on Swain.

"I see." He sounded disappointed. "Was that the only reason you traded yourself for Cassipoeia?"

She looked into the cold, calculating eyes of the man who craved power more than anything else.

"The only reason relevant to you."

Swain nodded. "Did you know then, that we would pay any prince to get you out?"

"I had my suspicions, Swain. But I must admit, I had rather thought you would've taken this chance to get rid of me."

Swain dismissed her implications with a wave of his hand.

"You are an asset to Noxus; I'd do no such thing."

"But you would not have bothered to rescue Cassiopeia." It was not a question; she knew it was the truth.

"Child, although I would have regretted her loss, your sister is of no military importance to Noxus."

"That is why I traded myself," she said silkily, caressing one of her blades. "Because I am."

"Clever girl," Swain said in mock praise. Katarina was not bothered by being patronized. She was not sure she could outright kill the master tactician, but if it came to it she knew she could give it a good go.

"Oh, and one last thing, before you go," the master tactician added, as if in afterthought. "Kalamanda has not yet decided on whom to outsource their mines to. We are sending another delegation promptly to secure the contract for Noxus, but we need a strong face to lead it."

"Who do you wish to intimidate, Swain?" She asked, seeing straight through his pretense of strength. Noxus _always_ showed strength. If he wanted her to go, there was someone in need of a killing.

"Demacia has already sent another delegation," he said, as if dismissing them as non-important. "I would very much like it if Noxus ended up with the mining contract."

She narrowed her eyes. "I see." So it would be the council of elders in Kalamanda, then. One of them would die, and she would leave her dagger behind in warning.

She had never trusted Swain, but she would be a fool to underestimate his strength and determination; he had already underestimated her once, and would not do so again. She did, however, respect his strength. Strength was to be respected, was it strength of mind or body. In the tacticians' case, it was the former.

She left the room soon after, walking straight to the training arena at the High Command. Not at all to her surprise, she found the blood brothers there, throwing their axes around at the targets.

"Why, if it isn't our little Kat come to play," Draven crooned, laughingly throwing one of his axes at her. She caught it deftly in one hand and threw it back to him.

"Why would I need to practice with you, when I've met your better in battle?"

"Who?!" Draven shouted, his eyes flashing. "There are none equal to me in battle."

She smirked. "But I did not say equal. I said better."

"Calm yourself," Darius called sharply to his younger brother, before turning to Katarina. "We are aware that we are not the Crimsom Elite, but Riven has defected and Talon does not fight in battle."

"Who is it?" Draven shrieked in rage, ignoring his brother's attempt to calm him.

"Why, the demacian commander of the Vanguard. Worthy opponent though you are, I have never before fought someone like him." To her surprise, the mention of the demacian commander seemed to calm Draven visibly. He smirked as she approached.

"Garen Crownguard, is it?"

A jolt went through her at the sound of his name.

"You know what I heard, Kat? I heard that he likes you."

"What in the name of Noxus are you talking about?" She looked from Draven to Darius, who shrugged. It seemed he knew nothing more of it than she did.

"A rumor from the last Demacian prisoner I executed yesterday. He left Demacia a little after you did. Apparently their commander has quite a soft spot for the red-haired assassin, he said. He thought the rumor would save him." Draven laughed his manic laugh. Katarina shrugged, and tried to look nonplussed about this. She had guessed that Garen had more than a soft spot for her, but if she let on anything of the sort, the blood brothers would eat her alive, especially if they learned his soft spot was not one-sided.

"You know the fanciful rumors and tales told in one's final moments. Like me, you've heard a fair share."

"But you see, the soldier was quite sure about this. He used to be the demacian princess' confidante, and he remembered very clearly the princess' despair, on how much more time her husband-to-be was spending with you, rather than with her. He also remembered vividly watching Garen Crownguard placing a flower in your hair."

Katarina stood in silence, contemplating Draven's smirk. Darius looked more than thoughtful o this news, but her attention remained on Draven.

She weighed each word carefully before she spoke. "If what you say is true, this is valuable information."

"What, did you not notice him placing a flower in your hair?"

"That was a gesture of respect," she snapped at him. "Something you would not know anything about."

Draven laughed again. "Touchy, are we? Might our Kat have feelings for the commander, too?"

She flashed him a wicked grin.

"Why, still sore I picked your brother over you?" It received the reaction she had hoped for. Draven looked distinctly un-Draven-like, a look of mixed rage and hurt on his face. With a final throw of his axe, decapitating half a dozen straw dummies before embedding itself in the wall. A slam of the door announced his departure from the arena, leaving Darius and Katarina alone.

"You just had to bring that up, didn't you?" Darius was looking impassively at the door. "He'll be testy for days."

"It's the only way I know that'll get on his nerves," she said with a sigh. "He can be so annoying sometimes."

They stood in silence for a while, before Darius spoke again.

"You like him, then? The demacian commander?"

She dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. "Don't start on me too. Don't you remember? I'm an empty shell of a whore, not worth spending your time on." For the first time, a slight red tinge was visible on his face.

"I only said that-"

"Because you were angry," she interrupted him. "Yes, I remember quite clearly how angry you were that night." For several years, she and Darius had had an on-off relationship, never anything serious, yet Darius had been livid when she had called it off before going to Bligewater in search of her father. The horse ride the following day had been a nightmare.

"Kat, I'm-" Again she interrupted him.

"Sorry? For what? Hurting me? You are not sorry, Darius. You are only sorry that I left. But I am no longer mad at you for it."

"I loved you."

"'Love is a weakness,'" she quoted him. It was one of the things they had wholeheartedly agreed on throughout their affair. "You still believe it, do you not?"

With a pained sigh, he nodded. "Yes. I do believe that. You are my weakness, Kat."

"You know, I think you might be mistaken about love. Why is it such a weakness, really? You say feelings diminish us; what if they enhance us instead?"

He seemed to ponder her words for several moments. "You have feelings for the demacian, don't you?"

She shrugged. "I don't think that's any of your business anymore, is it? Now come; I wish to torment your brother some more."


	7. Chapter 7

All in all, it had been a bad day. Firstly he had been called to the barracks to resolve a tiny dispute between two low-ranking officers, and then he had spent the entire day in meetings with the Kalamanda council, before being informed that twelve demacian miners had been trapped in a mining accident. Rescue efforts were already underway, but while the survival of the miners until they could be rescued were more than likely, Garen could not help but worry about them.

He had only been in Kalamanda for a week, and had taken command over the demacian delegation there, and things seemed to fall apart. Meanwhile, Lux had gone home for a visit, leaving him alone with his troops. The men were nice enough company, but he was supposed to be in charge of them, not socialize with them.

He had let one of his commanders talk him into joining several of the officers for a drink at the Hasty Hammer Tavern, however. It was as far as he knew the only place in the village to get a drink. He did not drink much in the field, but even he knew that Kalamanda was not exactly a normal assignment. He wondered vaguely if they would take a break from the council meetings tomorrow, since it was sunday, but somehow he doubted it. The Kalamanda elders wanted this resolved as quickly as possible, and would probably take few brakes until they were done.

He sat at the bar, feeling a little guilty about his officers. They had asked him to join them several times, but he did not feel like sitting on a table with them, drinking and having a laugh. He did not feel very cheerful at the moment, and preferred to be alone with his alcohol. He had too much to think about for his own liking, and to his own surprise he found himself enjoying drinking alone. He was on perhaps his sixth glass of whiskey when something happened to make him focus on something again.

"You've let yourself go, Might of Demacia."

He very nearly fell of his stool at the sound of that voice. _Her _voice. He looked slowly up from his drink to look at her, for the first time in what seemed like forever.

She had not changed. Her vivid red hair and green eyes gleamed against her pale complexion in the fire-lit tavern. A grin played on her lips.

"When was the last time you shaved, anyway?"

He felt his chin with his hand, trying to ignore the sudden hurried beats of his heart. He was not at all that bearded; mere stubble, as far as he was concerned. In response he shrugged, trying to make it look nonchalant.

"I like the rugged look. You look more manly," she said looking thoughtful, before turned to order a drink for herself.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "What are you doing here, Katarina?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Drinking. What does it look like I'm doing?" She raised her drink, as if to greet him, before taking a large sip. She grimaced as she swallowed. "It's a bit strong."

"What are you doing in Kalamanda?"

She shrugged. "The same as you, I suppose. I am the leader of the noxian delegation. I did not think I would see you here, though."

"I wasn't supposed to be here, either."

She cocked her head as she looked at him. "Then why are you here? Recreational purposes?"

"After you were made an ambassador, Jarvan had the brilliant idea that we needed to have an ambassador to Noxus that, to some extent, knew you. So here I am, in the village where our interests collide right now. He guessed you would come, sooner or later."

"So you came here just for me?" She sounded almost surprised. Why was she? Had she not guessed that Jarvan would try to do something to even out the battlefield? Garen would not have been his own choice for an ambassador to Noxus, but he had to agree with Jarvan: they needed someone that at least had a small idea on how to handle Katarina, and so he was suddenly the only candidate.

"Don't flatter yourself. I am here for Demacia."

"I see." She remained silent for several sips of her drink. "And how's the misses?"

He laughed darkly. "Can't you see I'm having a bad enough day already?"

"The miners?" She asked, looking down on her drink. "I heard. I sent two dozen guards over there to help when I arrived; captain Lou hadn't bothered. I'm sure they'll be out in no time."

The gesture of thoughtfulness and helpfulness took Garen by surprise. "That's very kind of you."

She dismissed him. "I'm sure you would have done the same, were they noxians."

He on the other hand was not at all sure about this, but he decided not to mention it, and just accept that they were, on so many levels, fundamentally different.

In the silence between them he realized just how silent the tavern had gone. When he had started drinking, the room had been filled with chatter and laughter; now it was all silent. He turned to look at the crowd, and saw them all silently staring at the two of them. Katarina mimicked him, and snorted.

"Get back to your own business."

Slowly, as if coming out of a trance, the crowd returned to their previous matters, before they had noticed the two of them sitting together at the bar.

They sat in silence for a long time, lost in their own thoughts. Garen was not quite sure what to think about her showing up here, when he was not all in control of himself. Self-control had always been one of his most important techniques when dealing with Katarina, and he was not sure what he would do if he were without it. Luckily they were not alone.

"You don't look too good."

He sighed in annoyance. "I'm having a bad week:"

"Thought you said it had been a bad day."

"In case you didn't learn, there are seven days in the week, and they can _all _be bad."

"You don't say." She rolled her eyes, and downed her drink with a sly grin. "Drink."

* * *

"At the estimated point of collapse, we found a dead noxian soldier." The previously chatty council meeting fell silent. They had been in a good mood, having been previously informed that the demacian miners had been excavated successfully.

She felt all eyes turn to her, but she kept her own staring straight into the council leader, who had announced the news of the noxian soldier. The middle aged man looked triumphant.

"We have had him brought ip," the councillor said, silencing the room. "Would you help us identify him, miss Du Couteau?"

She showed no emit on as she stood while the body arrived moments later. The dead noxian was remarkably well preserved for having been buried in a mine for a month. She stood in silence as she looked him over. His dead eyes stared into hers. He wore the uniform of a noxian soldier, but she did not know him. He looked to have lived a short, brutal life.

"I do not know him."

"You did not order it, then?" The councilor asked with glee in his voice.

She replied, keeping hers cold ."If you remember, I arrived several hours after the collapse."

"You should still have ordered it."

Her eyes rose to the councillor, glaring at hi min response.

"I did _not_ order the mine collapse."

"This is very grave news," the man said, looking out at the ambassadors. "The council must contemplate this. Please leave us for today."

Katarina was the first one to leave the room. How _dare_ they accuse her of this? Ever since she had taken over the noxian delegation, she had done everything in her power to prevent the mounting tension between the noxian and the demacian delegations. Her very first act had been to send noxian soldiers to help dig the demacians out!

She refused to talk to anyone in her fury, as she made her way straight to one of the training areas set aside for the ambassadors. She stood for nearly an hour, picking up and throwing axes, imagining the target to be the council leader's head. Draven would have been proud.

The dead noxian soldier had ruined everything. There was simply no way Kalamanda would give the mining contract to Noxus if they believed Noxus had sabotaged the mines. As she threw one of the axes, a thought hit her. The master tactician had sent her here. He had sent _her_ to ensure the contract for Noxus. He had sent her talents, to persuade, to intimidate, and to punch. With a final throw, the axe cleaved the dummy in two.

"I did not know you were accomplished at throwing axes."

She gritted her teeth against the bottled rage she felt approaching from behind her. The ring of steel signaled a blade being drawn. As she threw the last axe to the ground, she quietly slipped one of her curved blades from the sheaths on her hips.

"I had good teachers," she said, turning around just in time to dodge his sword. He swung at her several times more. Anger made him careless, but powerful. Fewer of his strikes needed her to block them, but when she had to, it hurt.

"Did you order it?" He yelled after a heavy blow to her breastplate. It would have sliced her in two if not for her armor.

"No," she sneered as she humped over him. "Why would I want to kill twelve miners?"

"For fun?" He suggested as their blades clashed. The force of it pushed her backwards. She ran at him, brandishing her twin blades. As she slid through his spread legs, she took a stab at his ankle. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her up. Tears sprung unbidden to her eyes from the pain, but she refused to acknowledge them as he stared into her eyes.

"I thought I could trust you." His grip on her trembled with rage.

"I did not order the collapse! I am here for the contract, not for miners!" She hated how weak her voice sounded.

He wrenched the blade out of her hand; it fell to the ground with a thud. She could not remember being this afraid of him. In all their fights, there had always been a sense of playfulness in his eyes. Now she saw only ice cold fury.

"Garen!" She shouted, her voice bringing some sanity back into his eyes. "I did not order the mining collapse."

The last time he had looked at her this confused, he had kissed her. He did not look inclined to repeat the incident, however.

"Swear it," he spat, his eyes hard on hers. "On your life."

She swallowed hard. "I swear on my life that I did not order the collapse. I knew nothing of the noxian soldier until today."

As she felt his grip loosen from her wrist, she looked at him. He had closed his eyes, tired.

"The soldier might have acted alone," she suggested. "But the miners escaped without permanent injuries."

"I am aware."

"Then _why_ would you think I did it? I have been nothing but civil to anyone, ever since I came here."

"Of course I grow suspicious when you are _nice_ to me, Katarina. I am used to you trying to kill me, remember?" There was a stung tone in his voice, almost bitter.

She took a step back from him in surprise. Had he not guessed, not yet? She looked suspiciously up at him, towering over her.

"Why did you think I came to Demacia?"

"To save your sister," he replied automatically, not looking at her. By not looking at her, he told her his suspicions.

"As you wish," she replied, her voice brisk and full of false bravado.

She turned to leave, but the demacian grabbed her wrist once more. She tried to pull away, but he was much stronger, and pulled her closer. His other hand cupped her cheek, his sword and fury put away for now. Anger had been replaced by desperation in his eyes.

"Why do you do this to me?" He asked in a low voice. She did not know how to answer him, but when he leaned closer she pulled away.

"Why?" He demanded, and she had to smile. He was too used to getting what he wanted.

"You are too honorable for this, Might of Demacia," she said, before slipping out of his grasp, which she could only have managed because of his surprise at her words. Of all the things she could have said, he had not expected this. She was not like this, she told herself, and with a great effort returned to her usual self.

"If you are still here tonight, I'll spend the day looking into the noxian miner. Meet me at the Hasty Hammer."

* * *

It was safe to say he was very confused. At ever turn, Katarina surprised him, was it with her words or her actions. He had, without a doubt tried to kiss her again. but she had said no. She had said he was too honorable. Too honorable for what? For her? Or for a noxian assassin? But when he had let her go, she had retreated to her old self, the teasing, playful, and maddening Katarina he could not get out of his head. The Katarina he feared so he was in love with. He feared it, because of what those in Demacia would think of him if they knew. He feared what Katarina would do, should she discover it, though she must suspect. He feared what it meant for his honor and credibility. By all reason and duty, he should leave for Demacia straight away, call Lux back to her post in Kalamanda and do his duty for his family in Demacia.

But he was not at the stables, nor at the Demacian camp. He was at the Hasty Hammer tavern, to meet Katarina.

She sat at the bar as usual. With a hand on the hilt of his sword, he walked through the uneasy crowd of noxian and demacian soldiers. As usual, they had split in the middle, each faction keeping to one side, while leaving the middle part of the tavern alone. It was an uneasy truce.

"What have you found out?" He asked as he sat down next to her.

She jumped. "I thought you had gone home."

"I have responsibilities here."

"I hear you have responsibilities at home, too."

He looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?"

She shook her head. "As you wish." She sighed. "I've found out nothing of concern to the mining collapse. No one in the camp knows anything."

It was his turn to sigh. "You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it."

"It does not matter anymore. You have made up your mind."

He was just as surprised as always to realize how quickly they reverted to their old selves, both in how they acted towards others and each other. It was as if their small battle in the arena had never happened.

He looked her over, as she looked down at her drink. She looked tired.

"Stop staring at me," she commanded, turning her head to glare at him. He was taken had she seen?

"I can feel your stare burning a hole in my head. Your officers are starting to notice."

He shrugged. "I'm sure they've already noticed I'm sitting with you instead of them." he chuckled darkly; she gave him a piercing look.

"They've noticed, all right. Ant they're _not_ happy."

He remained silent, waiting for her to speak. When she did not, they just sat their, lost in their own thoughts.

After a while something happened.

"Noxian scum," he heard one of the soldiers behind him say, and before he could comprehend the significance of the words, a fight had broken out.

"Stop them," Katarina commanded, jumping off her chair and charging at the soldiers. He followed into the brawl, but quickly lost sight of katarina. Instead he focused on breaking up pairs of soldiers, yelling at noxians and demacians alike.

"There she is," one of the demacians screamed, and pointed to a figure yanking two men apart.

"Noxian bitch," he sneered to his fellows as they advanced on Katarina. Garen yelled a warning to her, and she drew her blades, something she had so far refrained from doing.

Before she could harm them, ye yelled at the demacians to stop. Some soldiers looked at his dark bearing with confusion, but when he drew his sword they quickly stepped back from her. He leaned the top of it against the demacian soldier's back.

"Step back from the noxian ambassador," he commanded. The small group of demacian soldiers did not move. Katarina stood frozen in front of them, waiting for something to happen."

"Sir," one of the demacians said, "If you knew what she has done…" He trailed off, looking nervously at the blade now pointed at his chest.

"I am perfectly aware of what she has done," he said, using his free hand to break up a pair of fighting soldiers to his left.

Katarina sheeted her blades with an exasperated sigh.

"You deal with them. I have a brawl to break up." She started ripping apart demacian and noxian soldiers alike, throwing them each to their side of the tavern. That left him to focus on the three demacian soldiers who had gone after her.

"Why were you going after Katarina?" he asked, looking them over.

Their leader hesitated. "Princess Jean asked us to…" The man swallowed, looking over his commander's sword.

"Did the princess ask you to start a bar fight, potentially damaging Demacia's bid for the mining contract?" He felt his face grow red with anger. Jean was _always_ interfering with the duties of the demacian soldiers.

They did not answer him.

"Who is your commander?" He asked, glaring at them.

"Jean is our princess," one of the men tried meekly, but Garen's look silenced him.

"_I _am your commander. You three will report to my tent at dawn tomorrow for punishment. Now you will leave this tavern, and remain away from it as long as you are stationed in Kalamanda. If I _ever_ find you are taking _anyones_ orders above my own, I will _personally_ see you executed."

They were quick to leave the tavern after that.

While he had been dealing with the three men, Katarina had successfully been dealing with everyone else. There were no more fighting, even if the two groups, bloodied and bruised, stood glaring at both her and each other.

"Bitch," mumbled one of the noxian soldiers as he glared at Katarina. Her gaze fell sharply on the defiant soldier. He looked to be barely of age, not yet old enough to be a soldier. But here he was.

"Do you have a problem with taking orders from me, sergeant?"

The young man spat on the floor. "i do not take orders from whores."

Her answer came cold as steel. "As you wish."

Garen had not seen her move, but moments later the noxian soldier fell to the floor dead, one of her throwing daggers planted between his eyes. She bent down and picked it up, twirling the bloody dagger between her fingers.

"Does anyone else have a problem with my orders?" She asked, looking at the group of noxious with eyes like ice. No one dared take a breath.

"Good. Go back to your barracks before I decide to have you all executed for insolence." She looked at the dead soldier. "And take him with you."

Garen waited patiently for them all to shuffle out before he spoke.

"You didn't have to kill him."

She shot him a glare, equally menacing as the one she had give her men.

"They are noxious. They answer to strength. To _my_ strength. I know what is necessary to keep them in line, Garen Crownguard." WIth those last words she stalked out of the tavern, leaving him with the demacian soldiers and the disgruntled bartender.


	8. Chapter 8

It was a cool evening, the light breeze just warm enough for the ladies not to freeze in their thin dresses. The celebration was held outside, the darkness lit up by hundreds of low-hanging lantern. He was wearing his dress uniform for once, his sword hanging decoratively on his hip; he hoped using it would not be necessary tonight.

To celebrate Demacia being granted the mining contract, the mayor of Kalamanda had decided to host a celebration the night before the signing of the counteract; they were expecting King Jarvan the following day. The celebration was of surprising size, compared to the size of the village. Almost all his ranking officers had been invited, as well as those of the noxian delegation. Where all the women came from, he had no idea.

"Congratulations," a soft voice said from behind him. He turned to look at Caitlyn, the Piltover representative. She wore a long purple dress, her hair flowing down her shoulders in gentle curls.

"For what?" he asked, frowning down at her.

"About the contract," she said, gesturing to the dancing people dressed in finery.

He shrugged. "We only got it because the mayor is afraid of Noxus. Remember the leader of the council, found dead in his bed a week ago, the day following the brawl?"

She nodded solely. "I remember. I also remember who they think did it."

Again he frowned; he did not like to think about the whispers of accusation that flowed around the village.

"There were no proof."

"I know. I investigated myself. She's very good." He decided not to comment on her half-spoken suspicions.

When he looked down at her again, she was smiling. "Care to dance?"

He blushed involuntarily. "I'm not a good dancer, Cait."

She rolled her eyes at him. "And I'm not a good shot. Come on, Crownguard. A dance won't kill you."

The sheriff dragged him out on the dance floor, to the giggling appreciation of several girls he had seen around the village. They danced thought several dances, and Garen found he was enjoying himself. It had been a long time since he had realized with a friend, and after all the time in Kalamanda, Caitlyn had come to count as a friend. But Caitlyn was soon asked away by another man, and so Garen instead asked one of the village girls to dance. They were all delighted to dance with him in turn, and he enjoyed their company. It was nice to be around such straight-forward girls, who made what they wanted very clear as they danced. He was not inclined to get a room with any of them, however, and even if he had been, he would not have been able to; he would need to greet the demacian king soon after dawn the following day.

A glass of champagne was presented to him, and he took it gladly. The music kept playing songs made for dancing,but he saw few people he knew on the dance floor.

After dancing some more, he finally saw the one he had been looking for all night. Katarina stood alone at the edge of the town square, where the celebration was held. She looked magnificent in her dress, a simple silk dress in the palest, shimmering gold. It clung to her form suggestively, before flowing slightly out from her hips. The dress was unadorned, unlike almost every other dress at the ball, and much more beautiful for it.

He let go of the girl he had been dancing with and walked over to her, picking up a glass of champagne before offering it to her in silence. She thanked him with a nod and took a sip.

"No knives today?" He asked, a small playing on his lips. At least he was armed.

With a small smile in return, she moved her hand to her upper thigh. She shifted the pale gold fabric a little,r evening a thigh high split in her dress, and a leather strap around her smooth thigh. The leather strap held several of her smaller daggers. His eyes widened a little as she let the dress fall back over the daggers, completely hiding the slit once more.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You didn't think I would come to a demacian celebration unarmed, did you?"

"I was only hoping to see you. Your daggers will be of no use here."

She smiled humorlessly. "Unless I decide to kill someone."

"Like you did the councillor?" He asked before he could stop himself.

She did not flinch from his accusing tone of voice. "I have my orders."

"I doubt General Bromwill ordered the death of a councillor."

"Doubt what you will. I learned a long time ago that men do not trust a word I say." She sat her now empty glass down on a passing tray. and put her hand on his upper arm. He was surprised; what was she doing?

She gave him a small smile.

"Dance with me, Might of Demacia."

He was taken aback by her request, but was pleased that she had seemingly chosen to ignore his mention of the councillor. He put down his own glass and offered her his arm to rest hers in as they made their way to the dance floor.

After squeezing their way through the packed crowd, he took her hand in his and placed his other on her waist. As they started dancing, he realized how small she was, compared to him. She was slim, but he had seen her muscles at work, knew what force she could get from them, but it did not show. Jean was about her size, but he knew nothing but hard training would help Jean match Katarina in strength. His heart sank when he thought of Jean, but he pushed his thoughts of her away. He had a beautiful woman in his arms, and so decided to focus on her. Beautiful, yes. But also very deadly.

Her red hair hung loosely down her back, bouncing as she danced. She was having a good time, as was he. He was glad for the many other couples on the dance floor; no one paid them any attention, not realizing that it was the commander of the Dauntless Vanguard that was dancing with the noxian assassin. It was nice to be anonymous for once, just one of the crowd. When she smiled at him, he felt like they were the only ones dancing. He longed to be alone with her.

He was unsure of how long they danced in silence, but they did not stop until the music did. When it stopped, it was replaced by trumpets.

At the sound of the horns, Katarina's face snapped to attention, her eyes roaming the town square for the source of the disturbance. She saw it before he did; her eyes narrowed at the sight of King Jarvan III and his two children, accompanied by Xin Zhao and a dozen of the Dauntless Vanguard.

She took her hands away from him at once, but stayed next to him as they made their way towards the new arrivals.

When in front of them, Garen bowed deeply to the king and Jarvan, giving the latter a wide grin. He glanced at Katarina, who did not bow, but inclined her head sharply to the King.

Jarvan muttered something that sounded like 'bitch.'

As he rose to his feet, he stepped closer to the prince; the king was now busy talking to the mayor.

"You might want to be a bit more careful about letting her hear you," he murmured to the prince. "The last person to call her that died at her hands."

"Of course," Jarvan said, glaring at her. She glared back.

Garen took a look at his Dauntless Vanguard, to see who had come. To his surprise he saw Shyvana, taking special notice of her because he had been sure the king would have refused her to come.

"We came early," Jarvan said, looking around the crowd of curious onlookers. "My father wanted to look over the documents before the signing tomorrow. Plus, Luxanna was sure more noxious would come for the singing as well. We wanted to beat them to it."

Garen grasped his shoulder. "I am glad you came, my friend. Kalamanda has been boring with just the military here."

Jarvan smirked. "Seems to be several girls here willing to share your bed, should you wish it."

He rolled his eyes. "It is not the company of women I have missed."

"No," Jarvan agreed. "I heard you've been spending quite a lot of time with the Sinister Blade."

Garen tried to shrug it off. "Some. She has been at all the council meetings since she arrived. Wasn't that your plan, that I would get to know her, to know how to play with her?"

Jarvan scowled. "It was. Just restrain yourself, my friend. Give her a finger and you'll loose the arm." He shrugged. "Just saying."

He grinned. "I have been careful." He leaned in closer to Jarvan. "Why is Jean here?"

"She came to see you. Father did not stop her. Lux is coming too, just wanted to change for the celebration."

His spirits lifted at hearing that Lux was on her way; he had missed his sister.

To his dismay, Jean came up to him, clinging to his arm. She had obviously already changed, as she would not have worn the soft white dress for traveling. He realized she ahd gained some weight since he had last seen her. He glanced back over his shoulder, and saw Katarina still standing a few paces away, looking away from the demacian arrivals. She was looking towards the sounds of more trumpets. Moments later he saw them. Like King Jarvan had come with a small guard, so had Jericho Swain.

The master tactician made his way over, followed by just one of his attendants. Garen froze as he recognized his man; Darius, the hand of Noxus. Jericho Swain was to Jarvan what Darius was to him. The king and the major straightened as Swain approached, greeting him friendly. The major nervously told Swain that he did not want any trouble, and Swain reassured him that he had come early to witness the signing, nothing more, and promised that he would not be the cause of any trouble.

Garen kept his eyes on Darius, who had not stopped with Swain, but continued towards them. A stripe of whilte ran through his jet black hair. He wore more weapons that the usual soldier, several battle-axes hanging from his belts. The one he carried was the largest axe Garen had ever seen.

He stopped in front of katarina, smiling at her.

"You look stunning tonight, my dear Kat." To Garen's incredulity, Darius bent down and kissed Katarina on the lips. Fury washed thought him as he ignored Jean's attempts to get him to copy Darius. He was just about to step forward, to hit Darius, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, restraining him.

He turned to see Shyvana cautioning him. The stone cold fury in her eyes somehow calmed him, and made him realize that he could not attack Darius now, surrounded by people. He would save his anger for later.

Was this why she had rejected him, then? Because she was already in love with _him_? Of all the men she could have chosen, she had chosen Darius? One of the cruelest, strongest men attached to the High Command of Noxus.

"Garen," a small voice from his side said, and he looked down. To his annoyance, he saw it was Jean, still clinging to his arm. He had forgotten she was there.

"What?" He barked at her, making her jump a little. He did not feel sorry for her, only annoyance at her disturbance.

"Do you like my dress?" She asked timidly,looking hopefully up at him.

"Very pretty," he muttered, and returned his gaze to Katarina. Jean was nothing coma red to Katarina. Jean was weak and scared; Katarina was stung and able to use her head, despite often using it to do things he disliked. Katarina liked strength; perhaps he should have expected her to fall in love with a general of Noxus. It should not surprise him that she had chosen a strong mate.

"Garen!" This time he recognized the voice who called for him, and it was with less reluctance he turned away from Katarina.

Luxanna ran towards him, completely ignorant of the now-dancing couples who had just resumed, and not caring about the tension between the King and Swain.

"It's so good to see you, brother."

"And you," he replied as he hugged her. Her but drew was lovely, and he told her so. She grinned widely.

* * *

"Come walk with me," Darius requested. He looked as serious as ever. She nodded, and placed her hand on his offered arm. Before they left, she took a last look at Garen, distracted by the company of his wife and sister. She had never before seen Garen's sister, but she was a vision of beauty in her blue dress.

"I though he would rip my head off when I kissed you," Darius commented as they walked thought the crowd of people.

"If you ever do it again, you should worry more about me being the one to rip off your head," she told him cooly. "And I do not mean the one atop your shoulders."

A wide grin spread on his face. "There's my Kat. Noxus has turned out to be quite boring without your insults and threats."

She smiled to herself as they walked on. He suddenly took his hand to her thigh, and shifted the fabric a little, revealing her thigh strap with the daggers.

"Always armed."

"A little trick I learned from a friend of mine."

"Any friend I know?"

She shrugged. "I doubt you would have a reason to know Sarah."

Another few minutes passed, before she asked him about his cleansing of Noxus. Restoring Noxus to its former glory was a large task, but she could think of no one better to do it than Darius.

A real smile fell upon his face, a true Darius-like smile. It showed his strength, his ruthlessness, and his cruelty.

"It's going well," he said, his voice smooth as the dress she was wearing. "Not many left now. I look forward to the day we will see Jericho Swain as the High General of Noxus, with you and me at his side. We will be the jewels of his armies, the symbols of a strong, united Noxus. Your father would make an excellent right-hand man to Swain."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I was under the impression you would remain Swain's hand."

He dismissed her words. "Another position, then. But his talents are much valued by Swain."

"And here I thought Swain wished us both dead."

"Swain's priorities and alliances has shifted. He wishes you and the General Du Couteau on his side."

"When and if a time comes, and Swain becomes the High General, we will see how it plays out."

He shrugged. "The time will come, Kat. You must choose between what you want; honor for your family, or a life of disgrace."

She flinched. "I'll deal with it when it comes. Our goals are the same, Darius."

"But when my brother jokes about me marrying, I would not seriously consider a demacian."

The silence was thick between them for a while, before he broke it.

"Who were those people with him and the prince, anyway?" His jaw clenched at the mention of the prince; he, like his general hated the prince.

"The woman of the Vanguard is the prince's soulmate." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Shyvana, the half-dragon." When Darius did not comment, she continued. "I am sure you know the blonde in the blue dress; his sister, Luxanna Crownguard. In a few years I believe her knowledge of tactics will equal those of Swain. Pretty, isn't she?"

Darius nodded. "Very pretty. But also very young."

"Twenty, I believe. Only five years younger than I am."

He gave a grunt of ageeement. "The other girl? The plain, chubby one?"

"That would be his wife, Jean. She is daughter to the king. And she is not chubby; she is pregnant."


	9. Chapter 9

She showed no emotions as she watched them stare at them. She was good at showing no emotions. The gasps and whispers carried to her ears as she stood passively behind Swain. He hadj use hauled the demacian food soldier in front of King Jarvan and mayor Ridley. Darius stood in silence next to her, staring at the foot soldier, should he try to run.

"Yes," the foot soldier croaked, on his knees in front of his king. "I planted the noxian soldier in the mine. I killed him."

The demacian king's eyes shot to Swain.

"Where did you find him?"

"Unimportant. What is important is that I did, and that his evidence renders the council's decision to award the contract to Demacia based on the evidence of noxian sabotage void. I demand an investigation into this, and a reevaluation of awarding the contract to Demacia."

The stunned mayor nodded, looking fearfully from Swain to Jarvan, who also nodded. Then the king turned to the soldier.

"What is your name?"

The foot soldier gulped, diverting his eyes to the floor. "Thom Gavin, your majesty."

"And on whose orders did you plant the noxian soldier in the mines?" It was very obvious that the young man had not done so on his own accord.

The entire room took a collective breath, waiting. She found the commander's eyes; they were furious. She kept her eyes on his as they both heard the soldier's answer.

"Prince Jarvan IV himself, your majesty." His voice shook with fear.

The room exploded with sound, as the confused onlookers started talking wildly. Garen's eyes stayed on hers while the prince loudly declared his innocence, and denying his knowledge of the demacian soldier.

"I demand the prisoner be released to me," King Jarvan shouted, effectively silencing the crowd. She tore her eyes away from Garen, and turned them to Swain. What would he do? He had not exactly consulted her about his plans.

"No," he stated simply. The king was visibly angry.

"He is a demacian soldier. I want to get to the bottom of this."

"As do I," Swain assured him, "but he is a key witness; I will not intrust him to you."

"And so what do you suggest, Swain? Do you intend to keep him?"

Swain shook his head. "Not at all. If you would agree, I would offer him to the government of Kalamanda. I am sure they would also like to know the truth of what happened."

"That seems a reasonable request, your highness," mayor Ridley shot in, his voice shaking slightly with the fear of insulting the king. But the king only sighed, and agreed to the request.

Quickly after, the crowd started departing. Katarina went with them. Now that the prisoner was in custody of Kalamanda, he was no longer her responsibility, and her presence was no longer required. She was not sure what she would do; she had imagined it would take much longer to stop the signing of the document, but the king had been quick to accept what the soldier had said.

The town square was nearly abandoned, so unlike the night before, when all the people had been dancing and having fun. She had seen Garen dancing with his sister when she had returned from her walk with Darius, but she had not stayed.

She four herself standing by the fountain in the center of the town square. It was massive, with several soots of water, and very beautiful. She had always liked water; it had a calming effect on her.

"What is it?" She asked when she heard someone approach from behind her. she also knew who it was; the gait of a dragon was recognizable, even in human form.

"The prince is not happy with you," Shyvana said, stopping beside her.

Katarina smiled. "Has he ever been?"

The woman beside her laughed. "No, I suppose not."

"How are things going?" katarina asked cautious. Although she liked Shyvana, she was always on guard for her anger.

"I was allowed to come here. The king was not entirely happy about it, but even he admits my skill at fighting."

She snorted. "No one can deny you are a fierce fighter; they'd be afraid you'd rip their heads off!"

The half-dragon grinned wickedly.

"I still think he would rather his son marry a noblewoman, or at least someone from a high-ranking family. I heard he has his eyes on Luxanna Crownguard for his son's bride, but Jarvan would never marry Lux. Not that she would want to marry him, either."

Katarina laughed darkly. "Isn't it good enough for him to have Jean married to Garen? At least Jarvan has more than air between his ears."

"That he does," Shyvana agreed.

She slipped her hand into the water of the fountain, sighing. Garen was married. There was nothings she could do about that. She very much wanted to, but her father had taught her to respect marriages. She had always chosen to think that any man was fair game until there was a ring on his finger; now he had. She had been too slow. She should have pressed it when she had been in Demacia, if only she had known what her feelings for him meant. At the time she had not known them so significant, although she had never been surprised to find how despicable she felt; a disgrace to Noxus, that was what she was. Or at least that was what she would be, should anyone find out. But it seemed unlikely, considering there was no way she would ever be with him. She was not even sure she _wanted_ to be with him, had she the chance. It was the strangest feeling; a lust for his blood, a lust to fight him, and at the same time wanting to kiss him.

Maybe she should take a bath… A long, relaxing bath.

"I think i'm going to the arena, to relax a little. Do you want to come?"

"No," Shyvana said. "I am to report to the prince's tent. He requested my assistance." She winked, and the mischievous look on her face made Katarina laugh, and shut the door on her own feelings. At least Shyvana could be happy.

She was still chuckling at the half-dragon when she arrived at the arena, and she was not unsurprised to find Darius there, throwing his axes around.

Wanting to test him a little, she snuck up behind him. Before he noticed her, she had made a cut on his cheek.

"Preoccupied today?" She grinned up at him. He gave her a rueful smile in return.

"A little. Help me relax?"

"Of course," she purred, drawing her twin blades as he brought up his axe. A wide grin spread on her face in anticipation; fighting Darius was always fun. Almost as fun as fighting Garen.

"Ladies first."

She wasted no time, and leapt to his shoulders. Their fight was easy; although a very fierce warrior, she had fought his better in battle, and had learned from it. It did not hurt that she had fought him several times previously either, and although good, he did not learn from his mistakes the way she did. Only a few minutes in she had him on his back, her blades at his throat.

"I believe I win."

"As always, Kat."

The door to the arena shut with a thud that echoed around the arena. katarina looked up to see Garen walking towards them; he looked _very _angry. She got on her feet at once, sheathing her blades and forcing a smile onto her face.

"What are you doing here, Might of Demacia?"

Instead of answering, he stopped in front of Darius, and drew his sword. The noxian general answered in kind, drawing his axe, and accepting the unspoken challenge.

Katarina huffed, but they were men, and if they wanted to fight, she could not stop them; such was to be expected, even if she thought it pointless.

It was Garen who struck the first blow, but Darius was quick to respond, and soon they were all-out fighting. It was one of the fiercest battles she had ever seen. Garen struck with precision, but in his anger he let Darius block more blows that he should have. Darius was, on the other hand, stronger and bulkier, often using his shoulders to knock Garen off-balance. Darius was winning. It was not because he was out-right a better fighter, but because Garen was so angry. His anger made him careless with his blows, and Darius took advantage of it. She had noticed it the last time they had been in the arena. Why was he angry this time? And why Darius? It was usually she who was on the receiving end of his rage.

It was not a fun high to watch, but she knew she should not interfere. Both men were likely bruised despite their heavy armor, but Garen was bleeding from several cuts. Darius was at least ten years older than him, and had experience on his side. When he had knocked the butt of his axe towards Garen's head, shoulders and chest several times she decided enough was enough. It was time to end it. Continuing would benefit neither men.

"Enough." She stepped between them, causing them both to lower their weapons. When she had reassured herself that Darius had put away his axe, she turned to Garen and touched his chin, angling his head to get a better look at his cuts. At least one of them would need stitches.

"It won't do if King Jarvan and General Swain learned of your brawl. It is above men of your rank. I do not care _who_ you claim to have fought, but it had better not be each other."

Darius grunted his ascent. but Garen remained stubbornly silent, glaring at Darius. She forced his head down to look at her.

"That goes for you too, Might of Demacia."

His piercing blue eyes seemed to falter a little under her glare, but he still said nothing. She sighed, and let go of his chin.

"We had better get you stitched up." She turned to Darius. "Go take a bath; wash off his blood. You train too much, you know."

A glint shone in his dark eyes. "Want to come bathe with me?"

Garen's sword was halfway up in a thrust before she realized what he was doing, and stopped him. He kept his glare at Darius as he left the arena with a smirk on his face, waving at her.

"What's the matter with you today?" She asked, looking angrily at him. She had never seen him like this before, so ready to attack someone even he knew could kill him. She had told Darius that Garen was his better in battle, and stood by it, but an angry Garen versus an amused Darius in a duel? That could end badly.

Cautiously eyeing his sword in motion, she drew her own blades, should he attack. Her instincts had been right. Moments after her blades were out of their sheaths, he swung his sword at her. She dodged it easily, but his next strike took her by surprise; it slashed across the abdomen. It was a shallow cut, but it stung nonetheless. He continued to press his attack, but she did not retaliate. She kept dodging and blocking his strikes, unsure of why he was attacking. She did not know how to handle an attack such as this, when she did not know why he was trying to kill her.

But he had already been through a fight, a bigger challenge than what she could present, so he was already tired. She was not. When she decided it was time for it to be over, it was. He found himself on the floor with her sitting atop him, barely out of breath.

"What was that for?" She glared at him, but he glared straight back. Today he would not be intimidated. But then again, when had she ever managed to intimidate the muscular monster of a man that lay beneath her?

"Do you love him?"

The question caught her so much by surprise that she barely managed to stop him from throwing her off. Did she love who? Assassins should not love anyone; did he not know?

"Darius. Do you love him?"

* * *

The shock in her green eyes was evident as he worded his question, but he had to know. He had to know of she loved him. He was afraid to admit to himself why it mattered to him if she loved Darius or not. He, might of Demacia, was afraid. Not of what would happen to her if she said yes, but what would happen to him. He was afraid of what he felt for the noxian assassin straddling him. He was not used to feeling this afraid and confused. The confusion of what he felt for her had been a constant companion ever since she had come to Demacia. He had kissed her there, hoping it would clear things up. He had hoped that he would feel nothing for her, and then go be able to marry Jean without wondering what might have, but should never have been. But it had not worked out that way. Their kiss had only made him feel more confused, and he was not sure what he wanted to do about it. If she loved Darius, he would back off. He should do it anyway, but he had not managed to do so. She intrigued him. Her words and her actions befuddled him. Sometimes she flirted; he knew he did the same with her, but somehow it was different when he did it. She seemed to shut down his capabilities for reason, for thoughts without emotion. He knew he should push her off him and refuse to hear her answer. It would be the easiest solution, he told himself. He could go back to Demacia once the mess in Kalamanda was over, and continue doing what he had been doing so perfectly until she came along: defending Demacia.

But then she answered, cutting his thoughts short.

"No."

She did not love Darius. He could not stop himself; he freed his arms and dragged her face to his, kissing her. It was not a loving kiss, but rough, needy. He needed her, in a way he had never imagined possible. He _wanted_ her. He had to accept then, that he felt _something_ for the assassin. He was not sure what it could be, but he definitely felt something. He wanted her, like nothing he had ever wanted before in his life. He knew that she was just as confused as he was; her kiss said so. She did not try to stop him, but kissed him back with equal fervor, wanting him for reasons he did not know. Lying there with her on top of him, kissing her, felt like forever.

A drop of wetness hit his cheek, breaking though his preoccupation. He opened his eyes just in time to see her gloved hand coming to his cheek; the slap echoed around the empty arena. In reflex his hand went to his cheek, trying to comfort it. She had hit several of his cuts, tearing them a little more open.

He looked from her hand to her face to see angry tears in her eyes.

"What's the matter with you? You have a _wife_. She's _pregnant_."

Then it hit him: this was what had stopped her that previous day in the arena. Jean. Did she think him too honorable for this too, like she had in the dungeon? He was afraid he was not nearly as honorable as she seemed to think him, but at least in this he could still her concerns.

"I don't," he told her, a small grin on his face. This was what she had been worried about.

The confusion on her face was evident, but he sat up and kissed her again, gently this time.

"I never married Jean. She has been sleeping around for years; when her father found out, he ordered her married to the man who got her pregnant. That was not me."

She stared at him wide-eyed for several long moments before she spoke. "But you would have."

"I would have," he agreed reluctantly. His long-standing commitment to Demacia, to duty and honor, would not have been something he could have ignored. He would have married Jean, and spent the rest of his life trying to figure out what the assassin now in his arms could have been to him.

A small, secretive smile spread on her face. "I'm glad I wasn't wrong about you, Might of Demacia." Then she kissed him. It was sweeter than the kiss he had given her, but it had its own kind of urgency; whereas his had been a bright flame, hers were like coals just about to once again catch fire.

She broke it too quickly for his taste, but she dragged him to his feet.

"We had better get your wounds cleaned." She glanced down at the slash on her toned stomach, the slash he had put there. He felt a pang of guilt for lashing out at her.

"I'm sorry," he tried, but she waved his concern away.

"I've had worse done to me. This is nothing. I am more worried about you; Swain will accept my excuse of having fought Darius, we do so often enough, but I doubt either Jarvan would be forgiving if they learned of your fight with him. If they ask, those cuts were made by my blade." She raised an eyebrow. "Was that not what Jarvan wanted, for you to get to know how to handle me?" He nodded reluctantly; Jarvan's plan had backfired badly.

They made their way to the infirmary in silence, and entered the room only when no one answered their knock.

A young girl of twelve stood there, looking shocked out of her wits to see the two bloodied people walking inside.

"What do you need?" The young maid looked wide-eyed at Garen's bloody face as she let them inside the infirmary. "I'm afraid the healer is out delivering a baby, and I know nothing of cleaning wounds yet. You might have to wait a while. Child birth can take a very long time."

Katarina waved her hand, dismissing her concerns. "Just get me some hot water and a few cloths, and I can take care of it." She pointed from him to one of the beds. "Sit."

He reluctantly did as she said, laying his sword on the bed next to him. She eyed it suspiciously, and thanked the maid when she brought what Katarina had requested, in addition to needle and thread.

She went to work on his wounds in silence, ignoring his winces and and grunts as she cleaned them with water. It was always the small wounds that hurt the most when cleaned. He sighed, resigning himself to the fact that it would just be painful a little while. it took her little time to finish the cuts on his face, putting a salve on them when she was finished to help them heal faster. the salve stung more than her cleaning them.

She turned to inspect one of the larger cuts in his armor, courtesy of Darius. It was seeping blood.

"Take it off." He did what she asked, and was pleased to see her half-swallowed gasp when he took of the last undershirt. He wore his light armor, and had done so every day in Kalamanda; otherwise Darius would not have cut through it, he was sure. He watched her eyes trail over his chest and upper arms, looking a bit startled to see it. He chuckled. It was a reaction he was used to seeing, but it was usually from Lux's friends when they happened to come upon him shirtless around the mansion, rather than from the one who cleaned his wounds.

He leaned over to her. "Surprised?"

Shooting him a murderous look, she started cleaning the two wounds he had sustained on his chest. His smugness vanished in an instant when she thrust the wet cloth into the gash on his left side, but she went about cleaning the wounds methodically, like she had done so a hundred times before. She probably had.

When she was finished, she turned to the young girl who, he realized for the first time, was also staring at him, blushing.

"Do you have needle and thread?"

Coming out of her trance, the girl nodded vigorously and went to get it.

"What do you need that for?" He asked apprehensively, looking at her small smile.

"This one," she said, touching her hand softly to his cheek, "needs stitches."

He winced. He did not like getting stitches. He would be the ridicule of the demacian regiment if they saw it.

"Why?"

"So it won't scar."

"What if I want a scar? We can match." The reminder of her scar seemed to shoot through her like a bolt. She stared at him with cold eyes.

"Scars are symbols of mistakes you have made, of lessons learned. What mistakes have you made this day?"

He shrugged. "Fighting you." But it was clear that she did not want to talk about her scar, and so he let it be. One day though, he would know the story of it. one day, he would know everything.

It became immediately clear that needlework was not her strong suit, but when he looked over it in the mirror he could see that it would heal nicely, even if a little uneven. She put bandages on the ones on his chest, and declared herself finished with treating him. He saw her cast his muscles one last glance before he pulled his shirt over them, and smirked at her.

She rolled her eyes in return, and together they left the infirmary.

"I need to get this looked at," she said, glancing down at the shallow slash in her abdomen. "I don't want to leave it like this."

Until she said it, he had forgotten that he had cut her. "Look, I'm sorry," he tried again, but she cut him off.

"It will be fine. Someone will take a look at it. I did not dare leave it to the young healer in training, and I would rather not sow it myself." When he was about to protest, she raised an eyebrow at him. "I would not entrust a needle to you, Crownguard. A sword yes, but never a needle."

"Besides, I need to find out if the prisoner said anything before being turned over to mayor Ridley. I left rather hurriedly."

Up until that point, he had almost forgotten. That was where he should have been all day, by Jarvan's side!

"Thom Gavin accused the prince of Demacia of treason. I must look into it."

"I expected as much. I will see you around, Might of Demacia."

"You will," he promised her. After that kiss, she would never slip from his grasp. He would have her. As they each went their separate ways, he wondered what he felt for the assassin. He knew it was _something_, but he did not think it was love. It was at least not like the love for his mother and sister, the only two females in his life he otherwise loved. What was it then? Lust? He _did _lust for her, but that was not a new feeling to him, and he knew that feeling. What he was feeling was more than lust, but he was almost certain it was not love. If it was… he shuddered at the thought of him being in love with a noxian. Jarvan would never forgive him.

The way to the Demacian camp was shorter than he would have liked, but he dutifully made his way to Jarvan's tent, where the prince was waiting for him. He pushed his thoughts of Katarina away from his mind.

"Where have you been?" Jarvan was cross, but Lux and Jean standing beside him was just sighing in exasperation.

"I ran into some trouble," he answered, pointing to the stitched cut on his cheek. "Noxian trouble."

"Assassin trouble?"

"In a way. Do not worry; she is more hurt than I am. What happened with the soldier, Thom Gavin?"

Jarvan pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's more trouble than it's worth. We should have gotten the contract anyway, despite this news. Kalamanda would not have opened an investigation into this if Swain had not suggested it."

"Are you sure about that? The Zaun bribery caused quite the uproar."

Jarvan dismissed his answer, not worrying about it. The reissue of the contract was already decided, and they could not change it. They would have to worry about getting it once more.

"Tomorrow there will be a meeting. You, Lux, myself and father is going to attend a meeting with some of the noxian delegation to decide what will be done with the prisoner, and discuss the circumstances under which he was found. I still do not know them, but the council of Kalamanda at least do not believe that I am behind the collapse. That's a start."

"You wouldn't be. The council would have given us the contract anyway, they just had to put up a show so that Noxus would not be offended by their partiality."

"Maybe," Jarvan agreed. He sat down with a sigh. "I don't want to talk about it. I don't understand it, but someone will hang for this."

"Let's not think about it anymore for now," Garen suggested cheerfully, as if he had done nothing else all day. "There is a tavern here, the Hasty Hammer. Their whiskey is quite good."

Jarvan's face brightened. "That, my friend, is an excellent idea."


	10. Chapter 10

Lux ended up joining them later in the evening, and everyone was in a good mood. Jarvan and Shyvana was drinking away his sorrows, and Garen supposed it did not hurt that Shyvana was promising the prince a very comfortable night in bed.

He spent most of his time talking to Lux, as they had not had nearly enough time to catch up the previous night.

It was nice to see his sister again, to properly talk to her. It had been months.

"Getting tipsy, Luxanna?" Jarvan roared at his own joke, before turning back to Shyvana. Lux had just given a large hiccup.

Garen chuckled, looking at her flushed cheeks and large eyes. He supposed she was getting tipsy, but he could not judge; he was not exactly sober himself.

"There are so many noxious here tonight," Lux said, her voice low.

He shrugged. "There usually are. Demacians aren't the only ones who like to drink, you know."

"But they're all staring at me." She looked around the crowded tavern, and shrunk slightly. "I'm the only girl here."

He pointed to Shyvana. "No, you're not. And none of them would dare hit on anyone in the prince's company. They value their sorry lives too much."

He turned to the barman and ordered another round of drinks for them. They were all much more fun to be around when they were drinking; they were much to serious otherwise. He was careful not to get drunk though, always balancing the line of tipsy instead. If trouble broke out it would not do to be drunk out of his mind. This idea, discarded by the prince and Lux, seemed to be shared with Shyvana, who kept her drinks to the bare minimum. How long did it take a dragon to get drunk?

He had not noticed the tavern going silent until the door shut, and he flinched. He was quite sure who had just entered; few people managed to quiet a tavern in such a way.

He turned apprehensively, expecting to see Katarina. He did not, however, expect to see Darius and his brother, Draven, as well. She looked very glum as they made their way to a table in the corner, glaring daggers as everyone who dared meet her gaze.

"She's so pretty," Lux said, her eyes wide.

"You saw her yesterday," Jarvan shot in, looking almost annoyed to hear that Lux thought the assassin pretty.

"She does not belong in a dress," Lux proclaimed, glancing at Katarina once more before turning back to him. Lux was right, he thought. Katarina did not belong in a dress.

"I thought you were afraid of her," he said quietly, leaning closer to her. "You asked me not to fight her, remember?"

"Anyone in their right minds fear Katarina. Even you should. But I was only worried for you; rumor is, she eats men for breakfast. You saw the two men coming in with her? They will do whatever she asks, wrapped around her little finger."

"No one commands the Blood Brothers."

Lux giggled. "She does."

The idea unsettled him. Did she have a habit of toying with men? The way Darius touched her made him sure that they had once been more than fellow soldiers. Draven seemed not to be as privileged.

They sat in sober silence for a while, before Lux gasped. "She's coming here! Quick, look normal."

Lux's rendition of normal consisted of staying perched on her seat with a drink in her hand, her eyes wide and scanning for trouble. Garen almost laughed at her. Jarvan and Shyvana just looked apprehensive, but Katarina did not stop by any of them.

As the barman made to get her two glasses of whiskey and one of wine, she turned to look at them. She inclined her head to Jarvan, before looking from him to Lux. He heard his sister swallow loudly under the assassins penetrating gaze.

He waited for her to offer a threat, or at least a menacing glare, but it did not come. Instead, she spoke to Lux with a small smirk on her scarred face.

"The family resemblance favors you, Luxanna."

Too stunned to reply, Lux simply stared at Katarina while the barman put the drinks in front of her.

"I don't want any trouble tonight," the gruff man said with a glance at Darius and Draven.

Katarina smiled sweetly, something Garen found just as menacing as her glare.

"Of course not. The Blood Brothers will bid you no trouble tonight."

Without another word she took her drinks and left the bar.

As it turned out, Katarina stayed true to her word. The Blood Brothers stayed in their corner, only emerging to get more drinks. Katarina drank little, but she seemed to be enjoying herself. Why shouldn't she? She was with her fellows, men who shared her values and visions. Strength was her highest value.

Garen left with Jarvan earlier than he had wished, but they would be stuck in a council meeting the entire following day, and needed to get some sleep. As they left, he saw Katarina watching him, but she stayed behind with Darius and Draven.

On their way back, he ended up having to carry Lux. She was too drunk for her own good, but she was in good spirits as they made their way back to the demacian camp.

"I like this place!" She exclaimed over and over again, giggling as he carried her into the camp. He put her down in front of her tent, the one she shared with Jean.

"Post extra guards outside tonight," he told one of the guards outside their tent. He would have stayed with her himself, but even if they were siblings, such conduct was frowned upon. He had to set a good example for his men.

"And make sure she gets up for the meeting in the morning."

"Yes commander."

He saw Jarvan and Shyvana to their tent before retiring to his own. It was nice and quiet there, after a noisy night at the tavern. Someone had lit the candles for him, lighting up the small but comfortable tent. Jarvan complained loudly about how small it was whenever he was inside it, but Garen liked it that way. It was big enough for a comfortable bed and a small sitting area, plus a chest to keep his clothes in. They had the command tents for any other business.

His heavy armor made a lot of noise as he removed it, placing it in the chest. He wanted nothing but to go to bed, but he could not. He had documents to review before he was able to do so. In all fairness, he should have stayed behind instead of going to the tavern; he would likely not get more than a few hours sleep before the meeting in the morning. With a sigh he sat down in his drawstring pants, pouring a glass of whiskey before he started at the documents. It was a hefty pile.

After he read though a few of them, he realized that he should have enlisted Lux's help with many of them. Those regarding supplies for the military was straight-forward enough, but she was better versed with diplomatic connections than he was, and most of them were of that kind.

Soon after he had sat down and started working on them, Jean entered his tent. He told her to go away; Jean had a habit of entering his tent every night, and she was just as disappointed when he sent her away every night.

"We're sorry sir, but she's the king's daughter, and…" His guards apologized again and again, but she was the king's daughter, and she went where she pleased. He sat back down to work again, when he heard the rustle of tent canvas being pulled aside. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Go away, Jean."

"That's quite insulting you know." Nearly spitting out his mouthful of whiskey, he turned around in his chair to stare at the woman standing inside his tent.

"How the _hell_ did you manage to enter my camp, Katarina?"

She scoffed. "Like it was hard work."

"It should be. How did you get in?" He was half of a mind to yell at his guards for letting her in, and making sure no one could into the camp. His tent was not the most important, but should she have gotten into Jarvan's tent she could very easily have killed him.

"Trade secret." She stood leaning against the center pole of the tent that kept it up, her arms crossed over her chest. "Your security is lax though. You would not have gotten into the noxian camp as easily."

"I am not trained in sneaking through the night without making a sound," he retorted, feeling a bit stung that she thought so little of his defense of the camp. "Besides, we are not expecting a noxian attack while we are in Kalamanda; we are under a truce."

"I hardly amount to a noxian attack. But your security is still lax."

"If you are not here to assassinate me, then what reasons could you possibly have to sneak through my camp in the middle of the night? I am entirely sure it was as easy as you say it was."

She shrugged. "I might have exaggerated a little. But I still got in without trouble."

He stroked his stubble as he considered her. Was she drunk?

"Won't Swain be mad if he knew you were here?"

"Furious," she admitted, looking him up and down as he got to his feet. "But I have reasons for being here."

A smirk spread on his face as he walked over to her, stopping when there was barely an inch between them.

"And what could possibly be reason enough to get the famed noxian assassin out of bed in the middle of the night?"

His whispered words had the desired effect. She closed the distance, kissing him. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling the cold armor of her breastplate pressed against his chest. As she was lifted from the ground so that he would not need to bend, he felt her smile against his lips.

He was already exceedingly tried; the day had been long, but he had a feeling the night would be longer still. Letting her back down on the floor, he leant over to extinguish the candlelight. There was no need for his guards to know that their commander was not going to bed alone.

* * *

"Attending the council meeting is representation for Demacia and Noxus, plus our willing peacekeeper from Piltover, sheriff Caitlyn, in addition to the council of Kalamanda." It was the proper way to start a council meeting, with a tally of those present. It went straight on the record who was there, in addition to what was discussed and what was settled upon. She was there with Darius and Swain, and as she had suspected, King Jarvan of Demacia had brought Garen, prince Jarvan and Lux. Noxus was underrepresented, but she was not worried. Swain had a way with words to persuade those he met of the truths he spoke.

The record keeper had barely finished speaking when the sound of a throwing blade cut through the air. She caught it by reflex, and saw that it was one of her own. Looking cautiously around the table, she found who had thrown it.

"You lost something." The demacian commander said, not even looking at her. She glared at him.

"The next time I'll be sure to loose it inside your chest." She put her blade away, half amused, half irritated. At least his throws had gotten better.

"No threats in the council meeting," the sheriff said, glaring menacingly at both of them in turn. Katarina chuckled derisively as she stared at Caitlyn, their eyes meeting in a cold glare.

She was not threatened; she did not threaten. Those who dared threaten her had a way of ending up dead.

"Now that we are all peaceful," the mayor Ridley said, glancing nervously from her to the commander, "I would like to start the meeting by hearing of how the demacian soldier was discovered. General Swain?"

Swain cleared his throat. "Of course. We arrived with the intent to witness the signing, but something about it just did not seem right. Darius here, asked around a little, and soon discovered the truth of the mining collapse. Once we knew that it was not a noxian sabotage attempt, we set about how to prove it. Darius has a way of making people talk, even when they do not want to."

"Did you torture him?" Mayor Ridley asked, his face going ashen.

Swain dismissed his concern. "No, not at all. So we summoned Katarina, the leader of our delegation here, and once she was filled in about the most important facts, she agreed that the council had taken the decision of awarding the contract to Demacia on false evidence, and would help us stop the signing. Her help was not needed, but the people of Kalamanda fear her."

"A show of strength, Swain?" King Jarvan asked, glancing from Katarina to Darius. "You brought your two most feared individuals here, thinking to intimidate us?"

"And what have you done, Jarvan? You brought your son, the commander of the dauntless vanguard, and your head tactician. Is that not a show of strength? And Viscero is waiting on the other side of the door; I remember seeing him."

"His name is Xin Zhao," the king said crossly, shooting an irritated glance at Swain. "A king must have protection."

"From what do you need protection, Jarvan? I have already said that Noxus will not attack while inside the borders of Kalamanda. My word should be enough. If I were you, I would be more worried about your son."

The king glanced at the prince, who was glaring daggers at Swain. He looked, for an instant, so remarkably like Shyvana, that Katarina almost smiled. Almost. But she was on official business.

"Gentlemen," Caitlyn shot in, looking at both the men as she spoke. "This is not the topic we are here to discuss. General Swain, what made you suspect there had been false play regarding the mining sabotage?"

"Following the night of the celebration, Darius caught me up on what Katarina had told him about the goings on in Kalamanda since she had arrived. She had mentioned, to my surprise, that after the mining sabotage had been revealed to be done by a noxian soldier, she had been viciously attacked by Garen Crownguard. It made me think; why would the commander attack her, if not to cover up something?"

Garen stood abrupty. "I knew nothing of it! At the time I thought her responsible for the near-deaths of twelve of my men!"

"General Swain," Caitlyn said sharply, "we are not here to throw accusations."

"Then what, sheriff, are we doing here? They want to know my information, I am telling them what I know."

"What you suspect," king Jarvan pointed out.

"The demacian soldier admitted to planting the noxian soldier at the point of collapse, and causing it. He put the lives of twelve demacians in danger, as well as the contract for Noxus. That is what we need to focus on." Caitlyn's voice was sharp, but not unkind.

Swain retold the story of what the soldier had said, and how they had agreed to turn him over to the government of Kalamanda.

"I would like to speak with him."

"You will not speak with him alone," Swain told Jarvan pointedly. "If we are to speak with him, we should do so together."

Mayor Ridley seemed to agree to this, and from that point the meeting went into technicalities that Katarina had no interest in.

Lunch was brought in, along with an assortment of demacian and noxian wine. She decided to have a glass of both; the noxian wine was dark and sweet, while the demacian wine was light and bitter. She much preferred the noxian wine, not finishing her glass of demacian.

"Just one of the many ways Noxus are superior to Demacia," Darius commented. She met his eyes with a smug smile.

The discussion resumed after the meeting, mostly between the king and Swain. They had their views, and in the end they agreed to give the poor man a few days before interrogating him, and would only do so when both cities had a representative present.

It was late in the afternoon when the meeting finally concluded. She and Darius went straight to the noxian camp for dinner, leaving Swain once they were inside the camp's borders. Their general had business to discuss with other generals and high-ranking officers.

Being the Hand of Noxus, Darius had his own table at dinner, like all the generals. She sometimes forgot that he was a general like the rest of them, but that he was.

"The demacian commander seemed to be in quite a state," he commented once they had sat down. "What did you do, rob him off his precious sleep?"

She smirked at him. "I don't think he was too upset about giving up his sleep."

Darius laughed; it was a good, rare sound to hear. For so many years he had been nothing but serious with her, serious and dreaming, but now that it seemed his wishes would be fulfilled at last, she had noticed how he took more lightly on things. After she had ended their relationship, he had also seemed more at ease with her; more than anything, they were old friends from a time long forgotten. Darius had been a student of her father; that was how she had first met him, before he was a mighty general. They had had their moments, and she was relieved to know that those moments would continue, despite the fact that they were no longer sleeping together. It was good to know beyond a doubt that they were still friends, good friends, and not even her unexplainable infatuation with the demacian commander could ruin that.

"Leaving behind your dagger was a little obvious, though," he offered, taking a piece of meat placed in front of him. "You might not want to repeat that."

"I didn't leave it," she said, frowning. She had not left any daggers behind in the demacian camp; it would have been a dead giveaway. "He must've picked it up somewhere else."

Their dinner was enjoyable, but mostly spent in silence. They did not have all that much to talk about at the moment; everything important had already been said.

After dinner they went to the arena. Darius had agreed to meet Draven there, to once again measure who was the best at throwing axes. She wondered how they had not yet gotten tired of their games. She came to watch, seeing as she had nothing better to do.

Darius and Draven fought like proper brothers did, and as usual they both drew blood within the first five minutes. Draven was flashy when he fought, which was to Darius' advantage. Every movement Draven made was easy to read and predictable, because he usually repeated the movements that he thought made him look good.

Footsteps from behind made her wary, but she did not turn to look who was approaching. She had a pretty good idea who it was.

"Which one of them is yours?"

She raised an eyebrow at the young woman standing next to her, and saw another to her side. Lux and Jean.

"What do you mean, 'mine'?"

"Well, you're dating one of them, aren't you?"

Katarina snorted. "Not anymore. What's it to you, Luxanna?"

The young woman in demacian colors blushed. "I just noticed that you hold sway over them, that's all. I never would have thought a woman was able to hold sway over men she was not either married to or sleeping with."

She raised her eyebrow at Lux. "You are the best tactician in the demacian army; you have thousands of men who does as you say. You might want to consider your words before you speak them, Luxanna."

"They're not like those two, though."

"What, fiercely independent with a big head on their shoulders? Surely you know a few."

"Two of them," she agreed in a mutter, and Katarina wondered if she meant Jarvan IV and Garen.

They stood in silence, until Darius dropped his axe with a thud; it embedded itself in the ground, but could just as easily have met Draven's neck should Darius had chosen to. A pity he cared for his brother.

With a sigh, she turned away from the two younger women and started to make her way towards the gate to the arena from the spectator point of view. It was harder than she thought; she was usually _in_ the arena, not watching it.

"On your left, the bottom benches," Luxanna called out, trying to be helpful. She did not much appreciate the help.

"Thanks," she said dryly, thinking it would be poor manners to ignore the girl. Twenty years old. She remembered when she had been twenty years old. She had already been an assassin for five years by then, and sleeping with Darius for two. As she fully realized how long she had known the Blood Brothers, she thought what Lux had said sort of made sense; she did hold sway over them, at least to some extent. Darius listened to what she had to say.

Luxanna was braver than she had given her credit for, too. Jean had not dared say a word, but Lux had spoken freely of what was on her mind. She briefly wondered if Lux would be so welcoming if she knew of Garen's feelings for her, but then she sighed. Of course Lux would be welcoming. That was what the reports said she was, to everyone. To Lux it probably would not matter that Katarina was from Noxus; Lux would only care about her brother's happiness. But Lux would never find out. Katarina swore to herself that Lux would never find out. The young woman had an innocence about her that Katarina envied, and she would not loose it on her account. Better she not know. Better no one know.

"And here I thought they would never leave."

This voice took her by surprise, and she spun around to crash into the arms of the demacian commander. She scowled at him as she steadied her breathing from the shock.

She slapped the palm of her hand to his chest. "What's wrong with you? Everyone can see you here!"

"Nobody saw me enter, and nobody will see me leave. The walls to the arena are too high for them to see me either," he said, nodding towards the incasing wall that hid Darius and Draven.

"What are you doing here? I thought you would surely be spending the day with Jarvan. He was accused of treason!"

"I will shortly be going back to that," he retorted, his blue eyes steely. His voice changed, becoming smooth and low as he started to nuzzle her neck, despite her protests.

"I was just wondering whether I should expect your return tonight or not."

The feel of his lips against her neck was maddening as she tried to think of a response.

"I don't know yet," she gasped, trying to push him off her. It was pointless; he was much stronger now that he already had his arms around her. "I need a bath and some relaxation."

He chuckled against her neck. "I would be happy to oblige with either." He released her and took several steps back, a devilish smirk on his face as he left. "Just so you know."


	11. Chapter 11

She did not sneak her way into the demacian camp that night, nor the next. She had too many obligations, too many things that needed to be handled. Fights broke out regularly between demacian and noxian soldiers, and even though Darius could handle it, they were more afraid of her. She knew few men who feared dying in battle against a worthy opponent, but having their neck slit as they slept defenseless scared them.

More divisions of the noxian army would be arriving in a week or so; they had reports that the demacians too were filling their ranks, and they could do no worse than the demacians. She looked forward to the arrival of the noxian divisions; Talon would be with them.

She stood in the entrance to her tent, looking towards the runner who came towards her. The runners were Swain's messengers, and this one was heading straight towards her. She waited patiently for him to arrive moments later, out of breath.

"Thom Gavin has been found dead in the Kalamanda prison," the man said, gasping for breath as he tried to deliver the whole message. "General Swain requests your presence at once."

Murdered? After all the hard work of finding him? Despite what Swain had told the demacian king, tracking down the murderer had not been easy.

"He is at the prison?"

"Yes." The man collapsed on her feet, having used all his strength to deliver the message. She took a step back, before narrowing her eyes at the horizon. He was dead. The prisoner was dead. With a nod of her head, she signaled to the guards that they would care for the runner, and then set out to the prison, murder on her mind.

"Kat." The voice from behind was sharp, but she did not turn. Instead she slowed down slightly, allowing Darius to catch up with her.

"To the prison?"

"Yes," she said with gritted teeth, glaring at everything in her sight. "After all that work, we were finally going to find out who would frame us, just to have it slip through our fingers."

It had been the demacians who had been guarding him this night; it was their fault. Maybe they had even done it themselves, not wanting Gavin to reveal what he knew. _Someone_ would pay for this, she promised herself, pay in blood.

They made their way to the dungeons in silence, not stopping for the many people who tried to catch their attention.

The bodies of demacian soldiers lay scattered through the hall to the cell where the prisoner had been kept, slaughtered. There had been a dozen soldiers guarding him; half of them were dead. In front of the cell, they found Swain and king Jarvan locked in an argument.

She ignored the two men and stepped into the cell. Thom Gavin lay there with his food tray, dead.

"Poison," she muttered. She was no stranger to poison. But what kind? The man had died eating. By the sight of the slain soldiers, she guessed it had happened instantly, and that whoever in charge had ordered the guards to stop the man who had delivered the tray, and been slain by him.

When she came out again, she noticed that the rest of the demacian soldiers were still there, being tended to by several healers. When she saw who was sitting in the corner, looking just as murderous as she felt, she realized that all the soldiers had been of the vanguard. The best fighters in all of Demacia, trusted with the safety of the royal family, had failed to kill one intruder.

"You were supposed to guard him." She made her way to the demacian commander, who until then had not looked at her. He met her glare with one of his own.

"I lost six men trying to guard him," he growled, turning his glare briefly to the healer tending a deep cut in his left arm.

"You lost six men trying to capture the man who had already killed him," she corrected, revealing quite clearly that she thought they had failed in their duty. "That man was the only witness who could prove that Noxus did not order the mining collapse." The only man who could have cleared Noxus.

"Does it look like we did not fight to contain his killer? Six of my men are dead, Katarina!"

"Be quiet, the both of you!" Darius's shout echoed around the small prison, drawing all eyes to them. "It has happened. Arguing about it does no good. Take your arguments in private."

She moved to the back of the prison, away from the commander. She remained in silence while the general and king heard what had happened, and reached a decision as to what they would do next. She did not pay attention to them, but left with Darius as soon as she had the chance.

"That was callous of you, Kat. Your emotions got in the way of your reason. Never let it happen again."

She nodded, well aware of it. Would she have been this mad, if not for her confused feelings for the commander? She thought maybe she would have; the man had been the only way to clear Noxus beyond a doubt.

It was late in the evening when they returned to the camp. Katarina was still mad, but she had calmed down substantially.

"So what are you doing tonight, Kat? Are you staying here, or going to make peace with your commander?"

_Her_ commander. For a moment she imagined what it would be like, if he was hers. But he could not be; the Noxus - Demacia conflict ran too deeply for that. She was not sure he wanted him to be hers, either. It would complicate so many things.

"I think I'll be trying for peace," she said, stopping just inside the camp borders.

"Going soft, Kat," he called after her as she turned around to leave.

"Not at all," she promised him before leaving the camp once more.

Her way to the demacian camp went easily, shrouded in the darkness and hidden from drunk eyes. As she approached the camp, she realized that he had tightened security. She stood patiently waiting for the guards to change, before going past their borders. Once inside, however, she found that nothing had changed. He hat not put more guards around any of the tents, and so it was very easy to sneak into his.

Once again he sat shirtless, his back to hers as he worked on more papers.

"What are you doing here?" He had not even bothered to turn around.

"I still feel you should have stopped him," she said, her eyes on the floor now. "But I should have handled it differently. I believe you did what you could."

"I did," he agreed, writing something down as he spoke. "And the loss of my men?"

"I do not mourn my enemies. But they died doing their duty."

He nodded his head, accepting it as the highest praise she would give them. "Are you gonna stay there all night, or do you want to come over here and keep me company?"

* * *

Wrong. Everything had gone wrong, and the prisoner found dead had been the cause of it all. The weeks following that event had been filled with tension. Reinforcements had arrived, but earlier that day, General Darkwill and his private soldiers had been found dead a few hours away from Kalamanda. Prince Jarvan had used the opportunity of confusion to attack, and now they were at war.

Chaos was _everywhere_. Even the usually so organized Demacian army was in disarray, attacking everywhere and everyone. She was glad the citizens of Kalamanda had already left. She had been there to see it happen; prince Jarvan had charged Swain, backed by the Dauntless Vanguard. The noxian troops, her troops, had been unprepared, but now they too were fighting. The rest of the demacian army had followed into battle, and now they rallied around their commander in the absence of their prince. Jarvan had gone with Swain, but the king had joined the fray, followed closely by Xin Zhao.

It was madness. Katarina danced through the chaos like a ghost, avoiding knives and delivering death to all who came into her path. Whatever she did, it was not enough, but she did not just want to end it: blood for Noxus. It would not end until blood had been spilt, and she was in the mood to see it spilled. All other feelings were gone from her now, as she sliced demacians open. It was not enough. It was not their blood she wanted to spill.

The past weeks had been more than confusing for her, at least when regarded the demacian commander. The maddening balance of wanting to kill him, to end her confusion, and to be with him at the same time had been precariously maintained by not seeing him too much, and also by fighting him once or twice. But she had reached breaking point, and could no longer do it. One would have to give: either he would die, or she would have to search inside herself to find what was pushing her towards him. Him dying would be the easiest solution for her; she had committed to it.

As she made her way through the fighting armies, she saw Talon. He was doing the same as she, slipping through the armies as if they did not exist, granting a swift death to those otherwise engaged. He nodded to her, accepting the grim reality of their task, before moving on to another victim.

Darius. As she saw what was about to happen, she started to run, dodging everyone and everything to get there in time.

"Darius!" Shyvana's claws were just about to close around his throat when he looked up at her scream; she was already close enough, and rammed the weight of her body into the half-dragon, knocking her to the ground and away from Darius. The ferocity of the dragon's eyes woke something in Katarina that she had not felt in years: sorrow. She understood why Shyvana looked so enraged and lost. Jarvan was missing in action.

She offered the half-dragon her gloved hand, and helped her up. Shyvana was gone in an instant, leaving a trail of singed grass in her wake.

"She would have killed me," Darius said, glaring after her. "And you let her go."

"There are enough enemies to fight without accusing me of something," she snapped back, and forced her blades up to meet an oncoming attack.

She lost track of Darius in the battle, but as she was about to stab one of the demacian soldiers in the back, a sword met her blade. With narrowed eyes she recognized the sword, and by extension its owner. This was it. It would end now.

She brought her blades up crossed to meet the commander's strike, ensuring he would not cleave her in two. The determination she saw in his eyes made her feel certain that he could kill her today; what had made him so angry she did not know, but he was determined to have it finished. As was she.

This time he was not furious, however. He was cool and calculating, every strike just missing her as she danced with her blades, doing her very best to avoid his strikes. She threw several of her smaller daggers at him as they spun, but they caught in his armor, sticking there as if he was a pincushion. The spin of his blade was deadly, decapitating noxian soldiers as it spun for her.

She jumped and kicked as she dodged and lashed out with her twin blades, but she barely even made a scratch in him. It seemed to go on forever, and she was tiering.

It happened in an instant: she had her blades knocked from her grasp, and was kicked to the ground. She laid propped on her elbows as she watched the demacian commander standing above her, his sword raised. At least it would end, she thought. At least it would be over. She had never thought of him as an executioner before, but he was that too. He had to be. He was about to do it to her.

Her eyes went from the sword gleaming in the sunlight to the determination in his eyes. He was a strong man, as strong as any she had known. It would be swift, and he would not hesitate. As the sword came down towards her, his eyes on hers, something happened. A metallic clang shattered the eerie silence in her head, as an axe came from the side, knocking the sword away from its path.

Darius stepped between them, his gigantic war axe already swinging again, aiming for his target. The commander did not hesitate, but sidestepped easily and brought his sword up for another trust, this time aimed at Darius.

She lay on the ground, spellbound as she watched the two men fight. It was not like the last time. The previous time they had fought Garen had been furious; now he was cool and determined, ruled by reason and training instead of emotions. She watched in silence as Darius steadily lost ground to the commander, being forced several steps back. She had been right: a calm and determined Garen was his better in battle, and now there would be no mercy. As the men were about to clash their blades another time, something else happened.

Everything froze, and she was cold. So cold.


End file.
